The Secret's In The Telling
by Sakuri
Summary: Draco Malfoy suffers the unthinkable when he is turned into a werewolf. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM,SSRL Slash. Complete.
1. It Begins

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 1**: It Begins

xxx

Draco Malfoy was spoilt – and happily aware of that fact.

Currently, the self-proclaimed Prince of Slytherin lay sprawled on the couch closest to the fireplace, his head resting in Pansy Parkinson's lap as she obediently stroked his hair. He'd had the house elves bring them chocolate, and Blaise had managed to smuggle in Butterbeer.

Sixth Year was off to a better start than he'd hoped. For one, there was the new member of staff, Professor Slughorn, of whom he entirely approved. An individual who appreciated a good background in students had to be admired. He was so unlike most other fool teachers – McGonagall, for instance, who all but flaunted her Gryffindorish love of Mudbloods. Yes, Slughorn was definitely worthy to teach a Malfoy.

Another good thing about this year was that Professor Snape had finally gotten his place as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Admittedly, his head of house was certainly better suited to the role than others – the werewolf, for example – but the main reason this pleased Draco so much was that now Severus had what he wanted, he was even nicer to his Slytherins than usual. Draco was quite amazed that Dumbledore was making so many right decisions all of a sudden. The only thing wrong with the upcoming year was that Lupin was back, this time teaching Care of Magical Creatures – which was appropriate, considering. But that was okay, as it was a class Draco definitely wasn't taking, and the meek little man would be fun to taunt every now and then.

And finally, probably the best thing yet, Harry Potter had never _been _so miserable!

Oh, it was a brilliant state of affairs at this moment in time for Draco. His Potions Professor loved him because he was a pureblood and rich, his Defence Professor was his very own godfather, who had always favoured him, and Harry sodding Potter was spending his days looking damn near suicidal. This, of course, came with the added bonus of getting to watch Weasel and the Mudblood walk around on knife edges, looking as if they either wanted to cry or start running in the opposite direction to the precious saviour of the Wizarding World.

"Draco, we're taking another trip to the kitchens. Heard they're making pancakes for the morning down there. You coming?"

Yep. Life was good.

xxx

Hermione Granger knew very well what was wrong with her best friend – she just had no idea what to do about it. What did one do or say to comfort someone like Harry? Harry, who at the best of times was reclusive and secretive, but who had now withdrawn so totally it was hard to know how to act around him anymore…

She knew he had every right to act this way, really. Harry'd never had a very happy life, after all. From the Dursleys to Voldemort, his parents to Cedric… and now Sirius. She knew it had all had to catch up to him sometime. Sirius had been the final blow, especially since he'd had the summer to brood over it.

But what did that leave her with? A sixteen year old boy that neither she nor Ron knew how to deal with. How were they supposed to figure out how to heal somebody like Harry? This was out of even her depth. She would have gone to either McGonagall or even Dumbledore, but surely they would have done something by now if they thought it was really necessary…? Besides, now that Lupin was back at the school, she'd been hoping that he'd be able to talk to Harry, especially since Hagrid was absent on some mission given to him by Dumbledore.

Hermione knew that her friend wasn't so far gone that he'd go and do something stupid. He just had to get this out of his system, was all. Of _course_ he was going to be depressed! He'd just lost the one parental figure he'd ever known and loved. How could he be anything but, really?

They'd just have to weather this out with him, was all.

xxx

Harry Potter stared into the lake, watched as something from below rippled its surface, and tried to think about nothing.

A light touch made the Firebolt he rode dip until his feet dangled a few inches from the water. Another gesture and the broom rocketed forward, sending up a path of spray in his wake. He flew instinctively, remembering the time he'd ridden Buckbeak across the lake, when he'd had no control over the hippogriff's direction. It was a pity flying didn't feel the same anymore.

He rose another few inches before spinning himself sideways, so that he hung upside down from the speeding Firebolt. It was a move he'd practiced until he could do it in his sleep. When he righted himself, his hair was damp with lake water, but still he felt little excitement.

And by now, unwanted thoughts were starting to creep up on him again. He turned his mind to his movements, to his Transfiguration homework, to the Potions practical tomorrow morning, all the while trying to fight off the inevitable.

As always, though, he failed, and had to land before he fell.

Standing by the lakeside, Firebolt in hand, trainers sinking softly into the muddy ground and robes clinging cold and wet against his skin, he stared intently into the darkening sky and tried desperately to think about nothing.

xxx

Remus Lupin could feel the change coming, approaching like some beast in the distance. It howled in his ears and snapped at his heels, making him pace restlessly. Sweat trickled down his neck and back, and he twisted his head jerkily to one side as if trying to shake off a twitch.

He cast a glance at the ornate goblet resting on his bedside table, filled with the slightly bubbling potion Severus had concocted for him earlier that evening, before rushing off to tend to whatever cauldron he'd left brewing. Wolfsbane. He needed to take it soon. Now, in fact. The moon was already rising.

Nevertheless, he whirled away from it yet again, snarling. The wolf inside him was fighting against it more strongly than ever, its ferocity fuelled by his own vicious emotions. He wanted to scream and rage and cry and do nothing more. The wolf wanted all that as well, and it wanted to hunt. They both wanted to mourn.

Shakily, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, brushing away the tears he'd already shed. The motion brought his fingers into his line of sight. The nails were already darkening, growing longer. By now, his eyes would be flashing amber and fangs forming. There were minutes left.

It took an effort to force himself to turn around and walk to the table, dropping to his knees before it and reaching out a trembling hand toward the potion. His fingers gripped it too tightly, sharp nails scraping at the gold metal.

"Do it," he ordered himself, his voice little more than a growl. "Do it!"

That was when the wolf gave a final, howling protest, surging up within him with jaws snapping and claws unleashed.

The goblet was hurled away from him and the potion splashed across the carpeted floor and the nearby curtains, instantly soaking into the soft fibres of both. Desperately, Remus threw himself after it, scrambling across the damp, stained carpet, but it was far too late.

"No!" The cramps were beginning, starting in his torso as muscles contracted and bones shifted. He collapsed, twitching and shivering, trying to curl up on himself. "Oh God, no… No, no, **NO**!"

The scream that escaped him after that came out as a howl.

xxx

"C'mon, seriously, if you had to pick one – if you _had _to! – which would it be?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Blaise, this is disgusting. Would you stop?"

But for once he was ignored as the other Slytherins laughed and sniggered at each other as the group of five made their way toward the kitchens. Pansy Parkinson shoved Blaise playfully, her expression amused but carefully superior. "Honestly, where do you come up with these things? As if any of us would ever even _look _at a Gryffindor…"

The black haired teen grinned and shook his head. "And if you think I believe _that_ for one moment, you're insulting my intelligence. I'm not saying you have to _like _them, I'm just saying that every one of us must have at least… _looked_,at one time or another."

The scandalised blond threw his friend a look of plain horror. "_I _certainly haven't! And I never will, I can promise you that." The youngest Malfoy sniffed haughtily, his raised eyebrows making his expression aloof. He seemed to consider for a moment, then frowned. "Wait, who have _you _been looking at?"

Pansy elbowed the other boy in the ribs. "Yeah, go on, tell us." Her encouragement was backed by the guffaws of Crabbe and Goyle.

Blaise smiled secretively. "A gentleman doesn't look and tell."

"Good job you're not a gentleman, then, isn't it?"

"True, true," Blaise muttered, examining his nails. "In that case, I suppose it wouldn't be a crime to tell you that I have, on occasion, noticed the good side of one Ginny Weasley."

"_What_?" Draco almost stopped in his tracks as his voice rose several pitches. "The _Weaselette_? What good side?"

Blaise chuckled. "The backside."

Pansy tutted disdainfully, shaking her head at the crude humour. She took Draco's arm and patted it soothingly. "Come on darling, don't listen to him. He's only trying to creep us all out, I'm sure."

"I am not!" the other Slytherin protested, though his expression was still mischievous. "Honestly, _you _take a look next time she walks up a staircase ahead of you!"

"I'd rather not," Pansy drawled over her shoulder, while Draco remained wordless and horrified.

The playful bickering continued as they went. They'd made it past the dungeons now, and were just stepping off a staircase when they heard it.

Something growled in the shadows ahead of them. Blaise and Pansy went for their wands, while Draco automatically stepped back behind Crabbe and Goyle, all expressions alarmed. In the confined space of the corridor, there was very little light. There was a window at the very end, but only the pale silver glow of the full moon entered, doing nothing to illuminate what was hiding just ahead of them.

In the darkness, crouched at the foot of the window, something large stirred.

"What is it?" Pansy hissed.

"Light," Draco snapped behind her. "Someone give us light!"

"_Lumos_!" Blaise intoned swiftly. A flare of light immediately surrounded them – which, it would seem, was a big mistake.

Alerted by the flash, the creature turned sharply, amber eyes flashing. A long muzzle was covered in red substance, and canine lips were drawn back to reveal a terrifying amount of teeth.

"Oh God…" Draco breathed, recognising the creature.

The thing continued to uncurl itself, its bulk seeming to grow and grow. Having been hunched over something before, now it stood, and was massive beyond expectation.

Then, without warning, Remus Lupin in his werewolf form was racing towards them, murder in his eyes.

Their screams were simultaneous. Frantic, Blaise raised his wand and fired off a spiel of curses – all of which bounced harmlessly off the onrushing wolf. Pansy clutched at him and pulled, urging him in the opposite direction, back toward the staircase.

"Run!" she yelled, turning to follow Crabbe and Goyle, who had needed no instruction this time. Panic all over his face, Blaise obeyed and pelted after his companions, still firing curses wildly over his shoulder.

No one noticed that the Prince of Slytherin hadn't moved, and was in fact quite frozen by his own terror.

Time slowed for Draco. Ahead of him, the wolf's eyes flared with fire, coming ever closer. Everything in him urged him to run, to escape, to do _something_ – but he couldn't. Couldn't move, couldn't _breathe_. He was going to die. Oh God, he was going to _die_ – killed by that pathetic snivelling man in a cardigan! He was going to–!

And then it was too late to do anything, as it was upon him. Screaming senselessly, he raised his arms and fell backwards.

As if from a great distance away, he could hear Pansy shrieking his name over and over again. Someone else as well, someone shouting something. Someone shouting a spell. A great bang followed that, breaking the bubble of quiet and slow-motion that seemed to have enveloped him.

The wolf crashing down upon him, its mouth agape, was the last thing he remembered.


	2. Oh, The Irony

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 2**: Oh, The Irony

xxx

Minerva had often wondered why such disastrous events inevitably seemed to occur when Potter was involved. Oh admittedly, this particular disaster hadn't been his fault, or even directly related to him. In fact, this time, he'd actually managed to prevent it from becoming a much bigger, more tragic event, amazingly.

These were the thoughts going through her head as both she and Harry entered the Headmaster's office. Her hand resting gently on his shoulder, she could feel him shaking faintly every now and then. The boy wore an almost permanent expression of shock, had done ever since the… incident downstairs. He was still clutching his broom with white knuckled fingers, having had no chance to put the item down. His robes were soaked and shoes tracking mud everywhere, but now was hardly the time to scold.

"We'll wait here a few moments, Potter," she told him quietly. "Professor Dumbledore will be up in no time. You can tell him what you know."

He nodded mutely, glancing around. She knew he'd already been in here more times than most students – last year, he'd even destroyed a large portion of the room – but he never failed to appear curious when entering the Headmaster's office.

She noticed his eyes stray toward and then fix on the small cupboard which housed Dumbledore's pensieve. She frowned at that, but said nothing.

Sure enough, they'd been there no more than a few minutes when Dumbledore swept inside, looking tense and weary, more so than usual. He glanced between them, before moving to sit himself behind his desk.

"Harry," he greeted softly, his voice sounding tired. There was no twinkle in his eyes, and he made no move to offer either of them a lemon sherbet, which in itself was normally a sign for alarm.

"Professor," the boy returned warily, suddenly seeming conscious of his messy appearance. He shifted uncomfortably. "Err, sorry…"

Dumbledore waved a hand briskly, shaking his head. "No matter, my boy, no matter. If you could just tell me what happened, Harry…"

The black haired teen nodded once, lowering his eyes. "I was out by the lake, Professor. I know it was past curfew, but…" He trailed off with a shrug. Neither adult was going to reprimand him, knowing exactly why the boy had started wondering off on his own these days. "Anyway, I… I wanted to go see Remus. Just to talk. To be honest, I'd totally forgotten it was that time of the month. But when I got there…"

"Go on, Potter," Minerva urged.

"When I got there, his rooms were in a mess. The door was open, so I went inside. I saw… I saw the Wolfsbane potion spilt everywhere, and the door was ripped to pieces. I guess… I knew what had happened. Well – not really. I don't know why he didn't take his potion, Professor! It's not like Remus! Even since –"

"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted him, his voice regaining its gentle tones for the moment. "We all know there must be some reasonable explanation for this accident. But if you could just tell me what you know."

"Sorry," he muttered. "Well, after I saw the room, I just started running. Professor McGonagall was the first person I found. I told her what had happened and she went to get you and Snape. But… when she'd gone, I heard them screaming. The… the Slytherins, I mean."

"So you went to help them?" Dumbledore inquired, looking at his student over the half-moon spectacles.

Harry gave a half shrug. "Well, yeah I guess. I couldn't just ignore it, y'know? I could _hear_ them. So, when I got there, I saw Remus… He was about to attack Malfoy, who was just _standing _there like the big git he is–"

"Ahem!" Minerva coughed pointedly.

"Sorry," he muttered again, this time sounding much less apologetic. "Well anyway, I cast _Petrificus Totalus_. Remus kind of collapsed on top of Malfoy, who must have fainted or something. And… well, that was when you all arrived."

The three were silent for long minutes. Dumbledore stared at his desk over steepled fingers, a frown forming between his silvery brows. Harry stepped from foot to foot, apparently trying not to drip too much.

Finally, the Headmaster looked up again. "You did a good thing, Harry. Although I'm quite surprised your spell managed to affect an adult werewolf. As you know, most magic doesn't. You must have put some force behind it."

The teenager again shrugged, looking oddly embarrassed. "I was panicked, I guess," he said, as way of explanation. "Uhm, Professor? Is Malfoy… y'know, okay?"

At that, the frown deepened, and a troubled, sad expression passed over the old man's face. "He is not, I'm afraid. Very far from it, in fact."

Harry's shock was obvious, as was Minerva's. She took an abrupt step forward, her hands clenching at her sides. "But Albus, I thought Remus had hurt only Mrs Norris! He isn't going to die is he?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. But he may consider this alternative a worse fate."

The realisation of what the Headmaster was talking about hit the other two at the same time.

Minerva raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, Remus will never forgive himself…"

"I'm sure Mr Malfoy won't feel too forgiving, either."

Minerva bit her lip. "But how? I thought Mr Potter arrived in time to prevent anything like this…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Remus must have bitten him on the way down. Nothing anyone could have done, of course. Poppy's checking him over now, but I think we're all aware there's nothing she can do. She's keeping him unconscious until we're ready to explain the situation to him."

Harry frowned. "What's going to happen? To both of them. Is Remus going to be punished for this? Will he be allowed to stay at the school?"

Dumbledore gave him a serious look. "For the moment, that matter is undecided, Harry. No one besides ourselves know of the accident, and only Mr Malfoy was injured – well, apart from, of course, the tragic loss of Mr Filch's feline companion." He paused to look sombre for a moment before continuing. "I suppose it will come down to Mr Malfoy's decision of whether or not he wishes to keep this incident quiet."

Harry groaned. "No way will Malfoy be able to shut up about this! It's his chance to _ruin _Remus! And he's always been so melodramatic over the smallest little thing. Look what he nearly did to Buckbeak!"

For the briefest of moments, the twinkle returned to the Headmaster's eyes, before vanishing once again. "Ah, but Harry, you're forgetting Mr Malfoy's reputation."

"As what? A snobbish, ponsy git that–"

"As a _pureblood_, Harry."

Minerva sighed. "Really, Albus, where is this going?"

Slowly, Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "As almost everyone in this school is aware, Mr Malfoy prides himself on his pureblood heritage. Do you really think he'll want it to become public knowledge that he is now a werewolf? With the laws the way they are at the moment, he'll stand to lose a great deal. A good portion of his fortune, for one, and his heir status. His father is a merciless man. He won't be sympathetic with Draco…"

"Albus, what are you saying? Surely you're not suggesting a cover-up?"

Harry looked between them sharply, before stepping up to the Headmaster's desk. "Is that possible? Can you… can you help Remus with this? He won't get blamed for anything, if Malfoy doesn't blab?"

Dumbledore held up one long finger for quiet. He looked intently at the two of them. "For the moment, I am suggesting nothing. We are simply discussing this situation as it stands. In the end, everything will be determined by Mr Malfoy and Professor Lupin. We can do nothing to alter that fact. Understood?"

Reluctantly, Harry nodded.

The Headmaster sighed and gave him a weary smile. "Good. Now go to bed, my boy. Once again, you've had a tiring night."

xxx

Harry tiptoed into the Gryffindor dormitories that night, not wanting to wake someone he'd then have to give an explanation to. It was almost midnight by that point, and long past curfew. If nothing else, his friends would want to know where he'd been, and why he was currently trailing in a set of damp footprints.

Quietly, he stripped off the ruined robes and clothes he was wearing, exchanging them for warm, dry pyjamas that had never before felt so comfortable. Exhausted, he all but collapsed into the welcoming bed, discarding his glasses on the bedside table and awkwardly tugging the quilt over him, too tired to sit up and do it properly.

It was only then, as he lay for long minutes face-first in the pillow, craving sleep and blissful unawareness, that it slowly dawned on him that he was… well, restless.

How he even had the energy left to be restless was beyond him, but nevertheless, his thoughts refused to settle. They spun chaotically, anxiousness and anger stirring distantly in the pit of his stomach.

And at the forefront of his mind was Remus.

There was an explanation for why Remus hadn't taken his potion, he knew it. There just had to be! Harry knew that the werewolf wasn't at his best lately, but that didn't mean he'd _ever _do something like this on purpose…

Remus had been taking Sirius's death as badly as Harry himself. Maybe worse. As Harry had belatedly discovered late last year, the two had been lovers. More than that, really. Sirius had once told him that werewolves mated for life, and he'd said it with such a genuine, giddy pride that Harry had been given the briefest of glimpses of the relationship the two must share.

Now, he was seeing the aftermath.

Three months after Sirius's death, it seemed Remus still hadn't managed to pick up all the pieces of himself. Dumbledore hadn't been sure the werewolf was ready to return to school, but Remus had begged, saying that he needed a distraction.

Well, that had worked out well, Harry thought bitterly. Remus was probably in more trouble than ever, and finding out what he'd done to Malfoy would only devastate him all over again.

Although, if anyone in the world deserved what was coming to them, it was Malfoy. Really, when he thought about it, Harry suspected there was some ironic justice in the attack. After all the trouble the little snot had caused Remus by spouting his prejudiced ideas, maybe this was fate's way of payback.

He half smiled at that thought.

He wondered vaguely if it made him a horrible person to be thinking these things. Probably, but he didn't much care at that moment.

The big worry was finding a way to make Malfoy shut the hell up. He hoped Dumbledore was right, and that Malfoy's pride really would keep him quiet and help save Remus.

Because he'd be damned if he was going to lose the last person in the world that still linked him to Lily and James. With Sirius gone, Remus was all he had left.

And Malfoy would be sorry if he tried to change that.

xxx

Draco woke slowly the next morning, to be greeted by a throbbing pain in the back of his skull, the tell-tale disgusting taste of potions in his mouth and some faint stinging sensation in his arm. Oh, and he was being blinded by the sunlight filtering through the window directly above him.

Wincing, he rolled over, wanting to hide from the morning, but the movement only worsened the pain in his head and jostled his arm. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and looked around.

Quick to recognise his surroundings, it confused him slightly to realise he was in the hospital wing.

Curious, he lifted his faintly painful arm to examine, finding it was wrapped snugly in bandages from wrist to elbow. There were light spots of blood seeping through the white linen. He felt oddly like he was reliving third year, when that blasted hippogriff had clawed the same arm open.

His concern beginning to grow, he reached back to gingerly touch the egg-shaped lump on the back of his head, grimacing as he did so.

It was then that Madam Pomfrey spotted him. Within seconds she'd bustled over, holding several vials of multicoloured potions. A clipboard and quill floated after her, scribbling seemingly of its own accord.

"Awake are we? Good, good. How are you feeling, dear? Any pain? Nausea? Temperature?" As she spoke, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead briskly, pursing her lips as she tried to decide if he felt normal or not.

Draco stared at her wordlessly, taken aback by her direct manner. "No," he answered distractedly. "Well, my head hurts and– Wait, why am I here? What happened?"

And with that, he seemed to have stunned her for once. She blinked at him, completely halting in her ministrations. Even the quill stopped dead, laying flat on the floating clipboard behind her. "Y-you don't remember?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, since I just asked you what was going on, I would have thought that to be evident."

Even more surprisingly, his blatantly obnoxious tone of voice didn't rise her to anger, as it usually did. "I'll let Professor Dumbledore explain all that to you. He should be here soon," she told him quietly, her eyes downcast. Her mild tone worried him more than anything else.

"Am I dying or something?" he asked, voice maybe a _bit _higher than he'd intended.

She shook her head, an oddly sad smile on her face which she tried to pass off as amused. "No, dear," she answered. "I'll be down the corridor if you need anything. I'll hear you call."

Wide eyed, Draco watched her leave and wondered what in Merlin's name was going on.

Cluelessly, he stared at his bandaged arm and tried to remember. He could recall a relaxing evening spent in the common room, during which he'd boasted about everything from Quiddich to Professor Snape's new job. After that, they'd decided to visit the kitchens, which had entailed Blaise's faintly disturbing observations about Ginny Weasley, but after that… There was nothing.

How the hell had he ended up here?

As if summoned by his silent demand, the Headmaster himself entered the hospital wing, his eyes quickly settling on Draco and approaching at a swift pace. Behind him came Professor Snape, his dark robes flaring slightly with his quick stride.

They were intercepted by Madam Pomfrey, who whispered something urgently to the pair, both of whom scowled in response. Shaking his head gravely, Dumbledore sidestepped her with a soft, "Thank you, Poppy."

The Headmaster stepped up to the foot of the bed, lightly touching his fingertips together in front of himself. "Mr Malfoy, I'm told that you remember nothing of last night?"

Frowning, Draco shook his head.

"In that case, this will be rather more difficult than I'd hoped…" Sighing, Dumbledore seemed to cast around for his own words. "Mr Malfoy, last night you were… attacked. In actual fact you owe Harry Potter thanks. He may well have saved your life last night."

"What?" Draco practically yelped. "From what?"

At that, the two gathered around his bed were wordless, casting uncomfortable glances at each other.

"I asked you a question! What the hell did I need _saving _from? Especially by _him_!"

Again, there was a silence. Draco looked from one face to the other, annoyed and impatient and slightly afraid that no one was answering him. Severus looked pointedly anywhere but at him while Dumbledore, the infuriating old fool, was gazing at him with those sad eyes of his, but remaining as unhelpful as ever.

Finally, it was the Headmaster that deigned to explain.

"Due to circumstances we have yet to understand, Professor Remus Lupin didn't take his potion last night. You know what that means, Mr Malfoy."

It was an interesting sensation to feel one's own heart stop beating. That was what it seemed like to Draco, who stared back for what must have been forever. He couldn't look away.

"Draco…" That was Severus, trying to get his attention, but still he felt frozen. Dumbledore hadn't blinked since their eyes had locked, as if doing so would halt the odd flow of communication passing between them.

Draco touched his arm tentatively, not actually looking at it. "He b-bit me…?"

The old wizard nodded, once.

"No," the Slytherin said abruptly, shaking his head firmly. He shrugged, almost casually, except for the slight tremble that even he didn't seem to notice. "No, that's not possible."

The Headmaster looked concerned, clasping his hands tightly. "Mr Malfoy, what happened was disastrous, I know. But we must keep in mind that much more could have been lost."

Severus cast the old man a vicious glare, obviously not agreeing. "Albus, Draco's life will never be the same. What happened was more than 'disastrous'. Your pet werewolf should be exiled from this school immediately, if not executed –"

"That is enough, Severus," Dumbledore reprimanded, his voice remaining low and quiet.

Draco had listened to it all with a numb sensation growing in his chest. Again, he shook his head silently, denying what he was being told.

Dumbledore turned his pitying eyes on him again. "Mr Malfoy, I realise this is a delicate topic, but the fact remains that we must begin making preparations. There are another two nights of the full moon, and as… as a newly infected victim, these will be most difficult for you. We must begin soon. Now."

"Sir, please! This is ridiculous," he insisted, eyes wide. Everyone listening heard the trace of hysteria starting to build.

The Headmaster moved nearer, coming to stand beside him. He leaned closer to speak intently and seriously. "Mr Malfoy, denial isn't going to help in this situation. Later, there will be time for sensitivity and comforting, but now we must hurry! You will begin to feel the first effects of the illness soon, as this is your first full moon. You have to be ready to face it! Professor Snape has already made you a batch of Wolfsbane –"

Without warning, Draco clapped a hand over his mouth, rolled over, and was abruptly sick over the side of the bed. Dumbledore recoiled, his expression grave. "I hadn't thought it would begin so soon. I'd thought –"

He was cut off as the Potions Master swept past him, actually pushing him aside. "It has _not _begun, Albus, he's simply realised the full impact of what we're telling him."

In a gesture that earned a raised eyebrow from even Dumbledore, Severus Snape perched himself stiffly on the edge of the hospital bed and wrapped an arm around the trembling Slytherin teenager.

Draco cast him a wild eyed look, shaking his head frantically. "Professor, it's not true! I can't be! I'm a Malfoy! Not… not a… a…"

"Draco, you must listen to me. It most certainly _is _true, despite what we all wish. You have to accept this before we can do anything else. When these next two days are over with, we'll figure out a way to get through this, okay? But until then, you must work with us."

"But –"

"No buts!" the short tempered Professor snapped, though he kept his arm securely around his godson. "Unless you want this… transformation to be excruciating, you _will _work with us, Draco." Severus slowly removed his touch, rising to a stand and turning his gaze on the Headmaster. "I'm going to retrieve the potions we'll need from my lab. The last should just about have finished simmering by now. If you would accompany me, Albus?"

The Headmaster nodded. "Of course, Severus. Poppy? I think a mild sedative is in order for Mr Malfoy."

The pair left as the nurse descended on the Slytherin.

xxx

"How _dare _you take that mutt's side over Draco's?" The Potions Master raged as soon as they were gone from earshot. "He – he should be punished! Confined! _Certainly _not allowed to go on staying here as if nothing like this had ever happened–!"

The Headmaster interrupted the tirade calmly. "Severus, I assure you I'm taking neither 'side' in this."

"How can you say that when Draco's life is ruined, but Lupin gets to keep his cushy little job and forego all consequences?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Mr Malfoy's life is _not _ruined, my boy. Not yet. And if you'd allow me to explain my motives to you, you'd know I'm trying to protect what's left of it."

The younger man scoffed. "And what's that?"

"His pride, for one. As much as I sometimes think to myself that your godson can be somewhat… arrogant, I do not believe he deserves to be humiliated over this latest turn of events. And what's more – I'm _attempting _to spare him Lucius's wrath. You know as well as I do that his father would disown and disgrace him in a second if he discovered what has happened."

Severus scowled as they rounded a corner, drawing closer to the dungeons. "Be that as it may, how are you planning to punish the werew– Lupin for this? I _will not _stand by and see him escape scot-free for a second time!"

The old man sighed sadly. "If we are to keep Mr Malfoy's secret, I cannot report the incident, as you well know. What would you have me do?"

"Fire him, at the very least! For Merlin's sake, Albus!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I… I'm reluctant to remove Remus Lupin from this school at the moment –"

The Potions Master snarled angrily, actually coming to a stop. "Oh, I should have known! Nothing will ever touch that man as long as you're around, isn't that right? He can do no wrong, it seems!"

"Severus! That is ridiculous! If you must know, I'm reluctant for him to leave because I feel he will be of help to us. Draco will need a… a guide, if he's to get through this. Remus is the only person who can fully explain what's happening to him, and what's to be expected."

The younger man's face twisted with a look of hatred. "How convenient for him. That man is developing a track record of being able to worm his way out of these incidents! Not so long ago that _I _could have been in Draco's position, is it? Would you have done the same then? Appointed him as some kind of… of… what? _Mentor_? You know full well how Draco will react to that suggestion!"

"This is in Mr Malfoy's best interests –"

"The hell it is!" Snape cut across him viciously. "You've always protected your golden children, Albus. Even when it was at the expense of the darker ones."

And with that, he turned on his heel and swept his way towards his potions lab, leaving the Headmaster to stare after him silently, unable, really, to think of a defence.


	3. Preperations

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 3**: Preparations

xxx

At one end of the hospital wing, blocked to most of the students by a gathering of beds that were rarely used, was an entirely inconspicuous blank wall. Minerva approached said wall swiftly, glancing across the ward only once to see the Malfoy boy unconscious again, this time rendered so by Poppy's potions.

The Transfiguration teacher drew her wand and tapped three times on the wall. Within seconds, the solid stone began to ripple, moving fluidly and sliding away from itself until a fully operational door had formed before her. Squaring her shoulders, she twisted the handle and strode through it.

On the other side of the door was a room similar to but smaller than the main ward. And rather than beds, the main features of the room were the two massive cages set at its centre.

Inside one was the huddled form of Professor Remus Lupin.

She sighed at the state of him, her lips thinning with some severe emotion – though whether it was disapproval of his carelessness or pity for the look he currently gave her, even she wasn't sure.

"Minerva," the werewolf greeted her quietly, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "What… what happened? What did I do?"

Ignoring his question for the moment, she flicked her wand in some intricate gesture, muttering beneath her breath. In moments, the iron cage opened slowly, the aged metal shrieking in protest. The man inside moved stiffly, wincing as he stood and stepped out of his confines. He headed for the bed in the corner of the room, lowering himself onto it hesitantly, obviously trying not to aggravate the muscle cramps he'd acquired curled within the cage.

Again, his amber eyes found her and pinned her with a flat look. "Minerva, answer me. What happened last night?"

The Scotswoman only glared back, folding her arms. "_That _is what I'd like to know, Remus Lupin! What in Merlin's name happened that would cause you not to take the potion?"

He blanched, lowering his gaze. The grey in his hair was suddenly all the more prominent, as were the slight lines at the corners of his eyes. "I have… no excuse. I allowed the wolf to… take advantage of my grief. It overpowered me, Minerva, as it hasn't managed in many long years now. I shouldn't have let my mind wander to Sirius. It was asking for trouble, I see that now. I should have fought harder, I should have…" Trailing off, he shook his head. "Did I hurt anyone?"

She bit her lip. "Oh _Remus_…!" Her tone was half sad, half angry.

His head shot up then, distress evident on his face. He'd expected her immediate reassurance, that much was clear.

"Oh God, who was it? Please tell me they're not… they're not…"

She closed her eyes against the useless rage that rose up in her. Part of her wanted to yell at him mercilessly, scream that if it hadn't been for Potter a good number of the student population would be gone because of him. How could he have been so careless? Grief was to be understood, but he'd _promised _Albus that he had healed, that it would be _safe _for him to come here!

"Draco Malfoy," she answered finally, opening her eyes and staring at him expressionlessly.

What little colour was left in the man's face abruptly drained, leaving him shaking and looking as though he might be ill at any moment. "I – I… Is he…? He's not –?"

She pursed her lips. "He is not dead, no, but only through the intervention of Harry. He… You bit him, Remus."

"No!" The protest was useless, of course, but it escaped the man anyway. He stood, taking frantic steps toward her. "God, no, anything but that! He can't –! He can't be like… like _me_! Minerva, no…"

She shook her head. "There is nothing to be done. Severus is already working as fast as he can to double the amount of Wolfsbane and Poppy is busy trying to keep him sedated. The curse is settling itself as we speak. Even before his transformation tonight, he'll be vicious and difficult to control. And it's you that's going to start helping us deal with him."

He looked at her wordlessly, unable to form a reaction other than horror at this update.

She continued briskly, valiantly trying to act as if this was just another task. "I recommend you remain here for a while. In a few hours, we're going to move him to this room. You can help us with him up until the moon rises, at which point you are to be… supervised taking the potion."

Nodding once, she turned on her heel and left him, unable to bring herself to be the comforting shoulder. She liked Remus well enough, but she would not coddle him for this mistake, not when it had such consequences.

xxx

It hadn't taken Albus Dumbledore long to realise there was already a flaw in their plan of secrecy. He was perfectly confident that Harry wouldn't utter a word, if only for the benefit of Professor Lupin – but he wasn't so sure about the four other Slytherins who'd accompanied Draco on the disastrous wander through the castle halls.

He knew Severus had ordered them not to say anything, throwing all his weight as their Head of House behind the instruction, but he was also aware that their obedience would last only as long as fear of the Potions Master overrode the urge to gossip.

For two of the group, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, that surely wouldn't be for much longer.

And so, as soon as he found a spare moment in the day, the four were summoned to his office. As he sat behind the desk regarding them solemnly, he reminded himself of his own reasoning. It would most definitely not do for them to broadcast the news and implications of the attack throughout the school. For both Remus _and_ Draco's sake!No, he simply couldn't allow it.

Wordless, he met each questioning gaze briefly, extending just the slightest tendril of Legilimency, just to make sure it wasn't already too late. But no, it was okay; they hadn't yet told.

"Professor Dumbledore? Are we in trouble?" Pansy asked hesitantly, looking guilty. He wondered wryly what she thought he'd discovered.

Sighing, though, he shook his head.

"I am sorry," he began, ignoring their confusion. "But for once, I really am trying to step up and protect one of my darker children, as Severus so eloquently puts it."

The four Slytherins cast unnerved glances at each other. "Uhm, sir…?"

Dumbledore didn't answer, merely raised his wand steadily and murmured, "_Obliviate_!"

xxx

Harry had already noted Draco Malfoy's absence several times that morning. He hadn't been eating breakfast in the Great Hall, for one. His group of Slytherin bodyguards had been there, though, looking oddly lost without the sneering presence. Ron had already commented twice about how good it was to eat breakfast without certain people being there to ruin it. Harry had stayed silent, feeling a twinge of guilt for agreeing, knowing as he did where Malfoy really was.

He'd also been conspicuously missing from Potions that morning, causing a ripple of whispers to spread across the rest of the class.

"Git's probably busy at some Death Eater meeting," the redhead muttered darkly, glaring into the depths of his cauldron.

Hermione, squinting at Professor Slughorn's instructions written across the board at the front of the room, tutted disapprovingly at that last comment. "Ron, you shouldn't say things like that when there's no proof –"

"Hermione! This is _Malfoy_. I'd be surprised if he wasn't _hosting_ the bloody things…"

Harry smiled absently at his friend's indignant tone, but refrained from giving his opinion. He'd wanted to tell both his friends exactly what had happened last night, but Dumbledore's words still drifted through his head. The Headmaster was planning to keep what had happened a secret, if he could, which was surely the best thing Harry could hope for. He definitely didn't want to be the one to ruin that plan. Hermione's ethics would only get in the way, and Ron was too tactless to keep this big a secret for very long.

And so, Harry spent the day attempting to change the subject whenever Malfoy's absence became particularly obvious.

It was during fourth lesson, Defence, that his self-appointed mission became impossible. Not only was Malfoy gone, but so was Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle. Meanwhile, Snape prowled the classroom in such a foul mood that the Gryffindors held their breath whenever he drew too close. The older man seemed more impatient than ever, constantly casting quiet charms to check the time.

"I _knew _it!" Ron hissed as loudly as he dared. "See! They're all meeting somewhere! That's why the rest of 'em aren't here! And look at Snape! What's the betting he's just dying to go join them?"

Harry cast a glance at the furious Professor, knowing exactly why he was dying to go meet up with the youngest Malfoy.

xxx

He woke up to the pain, and it was overwhelming. He couldn't breathe through it. Couldn't _think_! Every bone in his body was being methodically broken and shifted, put back in the wrong places. His blood was _burning_, choking him.

And then as swiftly as it had started, it stopped, leaving him gasping and coughing and trying desperately not to cry.

Blurrily, he could make out the figures of adults stood around him. Three of them. Severus was there, looking paler than usual, his black eyes wide in his face. Madam Pomfrey crouched nearest him, her hand clutching his. Distantly, he wanted to yank away from her, to snarl that the only person allowed to treat him like that was his mother, thank you very much. But he couldn't summon the energy to move, and could only allow her to go on cooing at him, murmuring useless comforts.

The third person finally moved into his line of sight. Remus Lupin regarded him with dull amber eyes, his shabby figure more hunched than ever, the wish to be anywhere else radiating off him.

Draco's vision abruptly sharpened, focusing solely on the werewolf. Normally, this was the point where sharp comments rose from his mind. It was his specialty; verbally destroying someone. And the guilt-ridden Lupin couldn't have been an easier target.

But this time was different. He didn't want to _argue_, he wanted to _hurt _the man. He wanted to bite and tear and rip until the Professor felt the same pain as he did. He wanted _vengeance_! It was his fault! Why should he be standing there, perfectly unharmed, when Draco was going through this hell?

His exhaustion forgotten, he sprang from his prone position with a snarl, hurling himself at the startled werewolf.

It was Severus who caught him around the waist. The taller man's arms wrapped solidly around him, lifting him off his feet. Furious, he fought against the restraint, kicking and twisting until he felt his godfather's hold beginning to loosen. All the while, his eyes never left Lupin.

The adults were yelling, but he was deaf to them. Pomfrey was screaming and Severus shouting his name over and over again, frantically trying to control him.

Finally, the Potions Master did the only thing he could think of. "LUPIN, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

The werewolf cast him a glance that could only be described as terrified, before turning on his heel and fleeing the miniature ward they were using. The lock clicked behind him.

No sooner had he disappeared, Draco turned on him. He shoved himself away from his godfather, his glare lethal. "No! Bring him _back_! _Bring him BACK_!"

Severus looked pointedly at Poppy, nodding once. Behind Draco, out of his sight, she flicked her wand and opened one of the cages. Draco didn't notice.

Calmly, the older man shook his head at his godson. "You will calm down this instant! Drink that potion right now and stop this undignified display."

The Slytherin bared his teeth in anger, and for a split second the features of the wolf were already beginning to show through. Front canines lengthened just slightly, and for a moment, the silvery eyes flashed arctic blue.

Severus forced himself not to give any reaction, despite the abrupt clench in his stomach. He lifted his chin, determined to remain in control of the spiralling situation. "Unless you wish to kill us all, or yourself, you will _drink that potion_ right now!" He snatched up the goblet he'd set out earlier on the bedside table and thrust it at the glaring teenager.

Sullenly, Draco took the cup and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Then, without a word, he downed the contents, grimacing as he did so.

It was then that the pain swept down on him yet again, with the same swiftness as before. He cried out through gritted teeth, dropping the goblet to the stone floor with a noisy clatter, the remnants of the potion splattering his trousers.

Severus surged forward as Draco dropped, screaming, his hands clawing at himself. The Potions Master grabbed his wrists, pinning them together and snapping out a spell which bound them that way.

"Severus!" Poppy protested somewhere behind him. "Is that really –?"

He growled at her and she wisely fell silent. "Would you like to see him scratch gouges in himself as well?"

"What keeps happening?" she asked as she came to join him on the floor, crouching next to Draco as he thrashed. Together they fought to hold him still.

Severus shook his head. "I've only ever read about this. The curse is settling itself, changing his body in preparation for the transformation. That's why a werewolf's first full moon is the hardest."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" she murmured worriedly as the young man on the floor finally subsided, whimpering. Sadly, she touched his hair in a soothing gesture she used with most of her patients.

The Professor cast her a frowning look. "Really, Poppy. You're treating him like a first year Hufflepuff."

She drew back her hand with a tut.

Sighing, he sat back on his heels, regarding the near unconscious boy before them. "I think it's time he was confined. Wolfsbane or not, he's only going to get stronger, angrier and harder to control from now on."

She nodded and stepped back as Severus carefully lifted his godson. She half smiled at the sight, wondering if the snide, acid-tongued man was aware of how much of himself he was revealing in that moment. Severus Snape was _not _a man renowned for displays of affection, but she saw it in him now as he handled the Slytherin teen.

Shaking herself from such thoughts, she hurried to help with the cage.


	4. Do You So Swear

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 4**: Do You So Swear?

xxx

Severus Snape had been living in hell for over twelve hours now. With Albus busy running the school, and Minerva appointed to keep an eye on the werewolf who had _caused _this mess, it had been left to himself and Poppy to watch over Draco, and together they had sat up with him through the night.

The boy's condition had deteriorated so fast it had almost sent the formidable Potions Master into panic. For hours Draco had suffered through the unpredictable attacks of agony as the magical disease surged through him, and each attack lasted longer than the last.

Afterwards, in his exhaustion, he would be too tired to rage and yell, and instead fixed Severus with wordless looks of betrayal, silently asking to be freed, instead of caged like an animal. At first, Severus had tried to explain, but had soon found it useless. Draco had long moved past lucidity, and would only work himself into fits of fury or panic.

The Potions Master had both hoped for and dreaded the rise of the full moon. Part of him urged the hours to go faster, if only to speed up Draco's transformation and end his suffering. Another part of him had no idea how he was going to deal with the creature his godson was to become.

His disdain for Lupin's kind was common knowledge. His fear was a lesser known fact.

Of all the creatures in the magical world, it was werewolves that scared him – though this was only something he'd admit to silently, in the safety of his own mind.

Poppy had been as helpful as she was able, but there was really very little either of them could do. It did faintly disturb him, though, how protective the nurse had started to act. He didn't know if she was the same with other patients, and frankly didn't care, but it was something else entirely to watch her play mother hen to a _Malfoy_.

Especially _this_ Malfoy…

And so, when the sun finally did set, and the silvery glow of the full moon became the main source of light, Severus found himself standing as far away from the cage as he could. Poppy stood next to him, and they watched in morbid fascination as the change began.

All at once it started. Draco, who had been dozing after yet another ten minutes of painful convulsions, suddenly gasped. His eyes flashed open and he cried out in what may have been pain, but the scream turned quickly into a deep, resounding howl. As the moonlight touched him, seeping in through the small window in one wall of the ward, he transformed.

His face was the first thing to alter, lengthening into a long, vicious muzzle, filled with teeth meant to kill. Ears pulled back, becoming canine, as did his eyes, their colour becoming such an icy blue they were almost colourless. The flimsy hospital pyjamas they'd dressed him in soon ripped at the seams as Draco's body shifted and changed, gaining mass and muscle. The ties binding his wrists also fell away without difficulty. Claws erupted from his fingertips and toes, and a tail formed at the base of his backbone. The trademark Malfoy blond hair paled even further, and sprouted across the rest of his body, until silvery fur entirely covered the newly formed werewolf.

The metamorphosis was terrible to watch, even to Severus, who had observed the distasteful transformations brought on by polyjuice and similar potions. He shuddered slightly when it was over, and Draco lay quietly, a limb occasionally twitching in the aftershock.

Hesitantly, the two adults drew nearer the cage, their curiosity evident, and in Severus's case, almost equal to his revulsion.

Draco was smaller than Lupin, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Even so, Severus could tell that when he stood, he'd be large enough to give pause to any experienced witch or wizard. He was also almost pure white, surely a rarity among lycanthropes, who tended towards black or the common brown. Thin and long legged, even in this form, the Potions Master could guess he'd be horribly fast when he chose to be.

Swiftly, he stepped back again.

The nurse looked at him, her expression giving away the amazement she was trying to hide. "What are we going to do? Just stay here with him?"

Wordless, he nodded. There was nothing else to be done, really.

"What about tomorrow night? And the months after that? Severus, we can't continue to lock him up like this!"

He glared at her impatiently. "I realise that. This measure is only temporary. Tomorrow we will see if he can stay in his right mind through the transformation. If so, the cage will no longer be needed."

The nurse nodded absently. "Where is he going to stay? Of course, he's perfectly welcome to remain here, the poor love, but I'm not certain he'd enjoy –"

The Professor snorted. "No, I somehow doubt he'd be content to remain here. I shall talk to Albus about finding him his own room to be occupied this time of the month."

xxx

Long hours later – hours which Draco only vaguely remembered – he woke, blinking dazedly, just in time to find Severus tossing a blanket roughly in his direction, which hit him squarely in the face before settling over the rest of him.

Opening his mouth to protest the undignified treatment, it came as a shock to hear his own voice emerge scratchy and barely audible. He coughed and looked down at himself, realising to his horror that the blanket was the only thing covering him. Clutching at it, he looked up to see the slyly amused Professor step back out of the large metal cage that was surrounding him.

That was when memory hit. He paled rapidly, his embarrassment at his state of undress forgotten.

"Draco." The Potion Master's deep voice caught his attention, steadying him for the moment. Severus stood holding open the cage for him, waiting expectantly. "I'm not going to stand here forever," he snapped abruptly, his tone, as always, impatient.

That, more than any reassurances Madam Pomfrey might have offered, roused him to move again. If Severus was still irritable and able to snipe at him, it meant the world was still the same to some extent.

He stepped out hesitantly, his every movement hurting. The blanket was wrapped around him like a bath towel, though he clutched it primly at his throat, earning a roll of the eyes from his godfather.

Without warning, the door to the miniature ward opened and the nurse bustled in, holding the neatly folded pile of Draco's robes and under-clothes. The blond blushed indignantly at her unannounced intrusion, fussily checking that not an inch of skin was on show that he didn't want on show.

"Here we go, my dear," she practically sang, her forced cheer grating on him. She set the bundle down on the foot of the one bed in the room before turning to look him over. "Now, you get dressed and I'll have a meal waiting for you in the main ward."

As she said those words, it suddenly occurred to him how truly _starving _he was. When in Merlin's name was the last time he'd eaten?

"That would be appreciated, Poppy," Severus answered coolly in his stead.

The nurse nodded and disappeared again, leaving the older man to turn a serious look on the younger. "After you've eaten, the Headmaster has asked that I take you to his office. We have a situation to discuss."

Draco watched silently as his godfather followed the nurse, closing the door behind him and affording the blond the privacy to get dressed.

xxx

Yet again, Malfoy's empty seat at the dinner table was all too obvious. Harry looked at his best friend in bemusement as Ron stared fixedly at the empty spot the blonde usually occupied, glaring at it over his bowl of cornflakes. As ridiculous as it was, Malfoy seemed to annoy Ron more when he _wasn't _around.

"What do you think he's up to?" the redhead muttered through a mouthful of cereal, causing Hermione to wrinkle her nose in disgust over the top of her book.

She rolled her eyes at him, sighing. "What does it matter? Honestly, you'd think you couldn't go a day without seeing him…"

"It's not that!" Ron protested indignantly. "It's just… I bet he's up to something! You heard the Slytherins, asking around for him. Even they don't have a clue where he's got to!"

"So?" Harry interrupted. "He's probably just… sick or something. Could be in the hospital wing." Distantly, the irony of him frantically trying to protect Malfoy's secret struck him, but he pushed that thought aside.

The other boy shook his head. "Nah, Ginny was there yesterday after some potion blew up on her in Slughorn's class. She said Pomfrey wasn't there – some sub mediwitch gave her a check-up – but neither was Malfoy."

"Ron!" Hermione abruptly snapped, lowering her book to look at him sternly. "Please tell me you're not actually _asking after _Malfoy?"

Harry had to snigger into his pumpkin juice at the look on his friend's face.

"I – Well – I mean – Hermione! You don't have to say it _like that_! I'm not 'asking after' him, I just want to know what he's doing! I've got a bad feeling about this. He's probably planning something…"

The girl glared at him, her expression and voice deadpan. "Yes, that makes _perfect _sense. He happens to be out of the way for once, actually _not _making our lives hell for the first time in years – why didn't I see it? He's _obviously_ plotting our downfall."

Harry chuckled again as he bit into a round of toast, privately happy that Hermione was unknowingly helping him.

Ron scowled. "Alright, fine. But I could do without the sarcasm, y'know…"

With yet another roll of the eyes, she returned to her reading.

With a visible effort to change the subject, Harry cast his mind around for a few seconds before casually commenting, "So… first Quiddich mach of the season next week."

Instantly open to this line of discussion, as Harry had known he would be, Ron was soon engaged in a debate with Harry and Ginny, who was sat nearby, about the best strategy to use against Hufflepuff. The in-depth argument was unnecessary, really, considering that the House of the badger was the least formidable competition they faced, especially at the beginning of the season, but it interested the redheaded strategist enough to forget about Malfoy and that was all Harry was worried about.

About five minutes into the talk, Hermione leaned over to interrupt them. "We have about two minutes to get to our first class. If you're all about done…?"

Taking a last swig of juice, Harry stood with the others and they began to make their way toward the double doors at the end of the Hall. He'd barely taken two steps when a sharp voice brought him to a halt.

"Mr Potter!"

The group turned to see McGonagall marching toward them.

"Mr Potter, if you'll join me for a few minutes please?"

Harry glanced back at Ron and Hermione, both of whom looked openly curious. "Uhm, Professor, I have class…"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I've already notified your professor you'll be late." And with that, she took him by the elbow and began all but dragging him along beside her. To the others, she said briskly, "You two can go along. I'm sure Mr Potter will survive without you for this short period of time."

Scowling, Ron turned away, and Hermione quickly hurried after him.

Alone now, as they moved swiftly through the halls of the castle, Harry asked hesitantly, "Uhm, Professor? What's this about?"

"Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you."

"W-what about? Is it Order business –?"

"Potter!" McGonagall hissed in annoyance. "Must you be so tactless?" She glanced around, but there were no other students around to overhear. "No, it is not," she answered finally, her voice quieter than Harry's had been. "It is to do with Mr Malfoy."

"Oh." Harry sighed resignedly, anticipating hassle he could really do without.

xxx

Dumbledore's office, a place Harry had always considered quite roomy, was now more packed than ever.

As soon as they entered, McGonagall swept past Harry to go stand next to Snape, whose black presence seemed more dominating than ever. He turned to glare at the Gryffindor as if Harry was personally responsible for whatever was going on. Malfoy peered out from behind the Potions Master. For once, the blonde's expression wasn't a sneer or a glare. In fact, he looked… tired. Dark circles under his eyes were emphasised by too-pale skin.

Nearby, Madam Pomfrey stood by herself, looking out of place. She fidgeted uncomfortably, her hands twisting the material of her skirt. And in the far corner of the room, clearly trying to hide himself from notice, was Remus Lupin.

The Headmaster himself perched behind his desk, happily handing out candy to anyone within reach. He looked up at their entrance, eyes bright with interest.

"Ah!" came the satisfied exclamation. "Everyone here at last."

Snape's dry voice drifted calmly through the air. "If you'd care to let any of us know why, exactly, we're here…?"

The Headmaster fixed him with a pointed glance before continuing. "As some of you may have guessed already, those of us here are the only ones to have knowledge of the unfortunate incident to occur two nights ago."

Harry looked around as the old man spoke, realising just that.

"No," McGonagall suddenly spoke up, shaking her head. "Albus, what about the four students who were with Mr Malfoy…?"

For possibly the first time in his life, Harry witnessed Dumbledore look sheepish. "They… they will not be a problem."

"You didn't!" Snape spoke up, looking surprised despite himself.

"Oh Albus, really!" McGonagall snapped. "Obliviating students…"

Harry's eyebrows shot up as he finally cottoned on to what they were talking about. No wonder Pansy had been interrogating everyone looking for Malfoy. She didn't _remember_!

"It was necessary, Minerva," the Headmaster said calmly. "Now we are left only with us eight. I've asked you all here for discrepancy's sake. Mr Malfoy, as it is your secret to tell, you will be excluded from the request I am about to make of the rest of you."

The Slytherin gave no reaction except to lower his eyes.

Dumbledore continued. "There are laws in this school stating very clearly that incidents such as this cannot go unreported, if only for the safety of both students and staff members." Harry didn't miss Malfoy's wince at those words. "However, I am about to ask you to do me the personal favour of overlooking those laws."

None of the adults looked particularly surprised. The blond, however, looked up with a clearly startled expression.

Briefly, the twinkle returned to the old man's eyes as he glanced at the teen, but he became solemn again addressing the others. "I would ask you all to swear a vow of secrecy before this knowledge goes any further."

The adults nodded immediately, though no one said anything. Harry glanced at each, realising that they had been expecting this.

A few moments passed before he also realised that expectant eyes had been turned on him.

He started, flushing slightly. "Oh, yeah, sure."

"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands once, smiling. He then looked toward the Slytherin, who was looking confused by the proceedings. "Is this solution acceptable to you, Mr Malfoy?"

The blond blinked, then frowned mildly. "Why?" he asked, his voice emerging hoarsely.

Above the halfmoon spectacles, blue eyes took on a sad look. "Because, my boy, this way we might still show you at least some mercy. The alternative is to reveal what happened to the world and watch as it destroys both yourself and Professor Lupin, all because of something that was an accident. What you are will become common knowledge. Certain… privileges you've grown up accustom to will be lost."

Draco stared the old man in the eyes and, abruptly, understood exactly what was being implied. He had the sudden vision of Lucius's reaction. His father would be livid. No, worse, he'd be… ashamed. He'd be _disowned_. He'd be disinherited!

The Slytherin visibly paled even further, alarming everyone in the room. Draco's mind raced as more and more inevitable truths hit home. If this got out, he'd be cut off from the Malfoy name and fortune. Making his own money would become almost impossible, if the wizarding world knew what he'd become. No one would hire him – not that Malfoys should even _need_ jobs in the first place! But if his father disinherited him, what option would he have? Even the smallest of things he'd come to enjoy, like the school Quiddich matches, would no longer be accessible to him, with the rules concerning the participation of magical creatures.

He'd… he'd end up like _Lupin_! Wearing shabby cardigans and leeching off Dumbledore!

He felt, quite suddenly, very ill.

"Draco, perhaps one of us should escort you back to the hospital wing." Severus's voice brought him back to reality with a bump.

The whole room was staring at him with varying degrees of concern. It occurred to him that his thorough horror must have been showing on his face.

He shook his head, returning his attention to Dumbledore. "And if no one knows… what'll happen?"

The Headmaster looked vaguely pleased that Draco was seeing things his way. "You will, of course, retain the option of telling anyone you wish. The rest of us will find ourselves entirely incapable of muttering a word of your condition to anyone outside this room. I must warn you, though, that our secrecy won't stop people finding out on their own, if they guess or discover the truth. You will have to be careful."

Draco nodded, before casting one fleeting, vicious glance at the older werewolf, who was still huddled in his corner. "And him?" the blond spat.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers on the desk. "No Ministry action will be taken, obviously. I've actually already spoken to Severus on this matter. I had hoped to keep Professor Lupin around for the purpose of guiding you through this, my dear boy. I have a feeling you'll find yourself in need of his advice in the coming months. A far better option than for you to cope alone, without warning of what's to come."

Draco looked furious. "No! Why is he allowed to stay here after what he _did_?"

"I believe that was my question, Albus," Snape murmured coolly.

The old man sighed. "If you would both trust my judgement this once –"

"He attacked me!" Malfoy practically shrieked, his anger overcoming the aura of exhaustion which had first hung about him. "He's made me like him! I'm not going to spend another minute around him that I don't have to! The _least _of what he deserves is to be fired!"

Harry listened to the argument with growing panic. He had trusted that Dumbledore would find a way of convincing the Slytherin, but it was very obvious that Malfoy didn't intend to listen.

Finally Dumbledore sat forward intently, his expression serious. "Mr Malfoy, I'll ask you to calm down in my office. Very well, I understand if you decline the offer of a helping hand, but understand that Remus Lupin will remain a Professor at this school –"

"But that's not fair!" The blonde's voice had quickly taken on the tone of someone used to getting what he demanded, and in that moment, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, knowing Malfoy had just lost himself the argument.

A hesitant voice dared to speak up for the first time as Remus stepped forward. "Albus perhaps it _would _be better –"

"Enough," Dumbledore spoke clearly, silencing them all. "At the very least, I think we're all agreed that the best course is secrecy. Mr Malfoy, the choice will be yours after this as to whether you tell anyone else of what has happened. Meanwhile, you may trust our silence." The Headmaster raised his wand and murmured quietly for a second before looking back at them. "Do you so swear?"

"I swear," Snape spoke up first, his voice steady. A small star of silver light shot from the Headmaster's wand and hit the Potions Master in the chest, disappearing with a slight flash.

McGonagall followed suit, murmuring the same words, and another silver light vanished into her the same way. One by one they made the promise, though Remus's voice was heavy with reluctance and guilt. When the Headmaster's spell hit Harry it felt like an odd weight had settled itself inside his chest, but he grew used to it in seconds.

Finally, Dumbledore himself said the solemn words, "I swear," and the final light shot towards him. The faint pressure of magic settled across the room for a few prolonged moments, before eventually dissipating.

The Headmaster put away his wand and glanced about the room. "You may return to what you were doing," he told them easily.

Harry frowned. What? That was _it_?

"Professor Lupin, Mr Malfoy, you may both take the day off if you feel the need."

Remus shook his head. "N-no, that's okay Albus. I'll be alright to teach."

Malfoy folded his arms stubbornly. "I'm not going to sit around in the hospital ward all day. I'll go to class." He ignored Snape's disapproving look.

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well. Mr Malfoy, Severus has requested I grant you your own room specifically for this time of the month. It may attract less attention if you stayed there permanently instead of going missing only three nights a month."

The blond sniffed haughtily, but it wasn't hard to see the pleased look in his eyes. "Fine," he snapped ungraciously, making sure everyone knew he was being put out.

The Headmaster's eyes were twinkling in amusement again, though. "If you wish, you may spread the rumour that your father is footing the bill for such privacy. I'm sure that white lie will be believed."

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy, catching sight of him, cast a vicious glare.

"Why wasn't Potter Obliviated along with Pansy and Blaise?" he demanded with a sneer. "Merlin knows he's not wanted here."

Harry snorted. "Maybe I'm more trustworthy than a couple of snakes," he retorted, easily falling into the old routine he'd built up with Malfoy.

With a sigh, McGonagall took hold of his shoulder and pushed him none too gently in the direction of the door. "Come along, Potter. Time to go."

Malfoy wore a smirk as he watched until Snape did pretty much the same thing to him, ushering him impatiently out of the office.


	5. Alone

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 5**: Alone

xxx

Despite Severus's insistant protests, Draco had been determined to attend class for most of the day. He'd given no explanation to his godfather, doubting that the Professor would really understand.

In truth, it had occurred to him that if he occupied his time concentrating on classwork, it would mean less time thinking about… Well. Other things.

Beneath everything else – beneath the arrogant, sneering façade – beneath the determination to get through this – there was only surging denial. Draco had yet to sit down and think about things properly, and if he could help it, he'd remain like that for some time to come.

If he thought about it, it'd be real.

And so, he showed up at first lesson only forty five minutes late. As soon as he arrived back in the real world he was descended on by anxious Housemates and Professors who shoved missed assignments at him. He welcomed the overbearing questions and trivial annoyances, the difficult work set by the professors. He wanted to lose himself in the meaningless problems an average day presented him with.

His first three lessons – Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Charms – flew by without any major glitch. He concentrated harder than any time before, listened intently, and scribbled down pieces of information furiously. When lunch came, he ate silently, all but ignoring the worried Slytherins surrounding him, and then hurried off to find Severus, who showed him to the new room he would now occupy. It was guarded by a portrait of Lilith the Sorceress, a black haired woman who cast him come-hither looks as he passed. He spent twenty minutes arranging his new living space exactly as he liked it, before rushing off again to attend Potions.

Not having been with the other Slytherins at the end of lunch, and being closer to the classroom than the rest of his Housemates, Draco found himself in the unusual and unfortunate position of being alone in the castle halls. Unfortunate, because as he rounded the corner toward Slughorn's class, he suddenly found himself staring back at almost twenty Gryffindors, Ron Weasley at the head.

For a moment, there was a very loud silence, until the redhead spoke up boldly. "Back from the Death Eater convention, Malfoy?"

The blond narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Sod off, Weasley."

The lanky boy took a few steps forward, distancing himself from the crowd. "Snappy comeback. What's wrong? You-Know-Who Crucio you a few too many times?"

"Ron, stop it." And there was Potter, playing hero, arriving in time to drag away the big bad weasel. Draco's lip curled.

The redhead ignored him anyway. "Or maybe it's just that your bodyguards aren't here. Not so hard without them, are you?"

Growing very, very tired of this particular discussion, Draco levelled his best drop-dead-or-I'll-make-you glare up at the other. "You'd be surprised, Weasley. Now if you know what's best for you, you'll listen to your Golden Boy and _shove it_." Emphasising the words, he pushed past the taller boy roughly.

The redhead's freckled face twisted in a snarl and his hand went for his wand.

Catching the motion, Draco turned sharply, already reaching for the length of hawthorn which made up his own wand.

"_Expelliamus_!"

Both boys turned to stare incredulously at Harry, who had shouted the spell, and now held the two wands in his own hand. He blinked owlishly back at the pair.

"Potter!" the Slytherin spat in disgust, unable to come up with any other reaction.

Similarly, Ron could only splutter, "Harry!"

The black haired Gryffindor rolled his eyes, glancing at his friend. "I'd rather you didn't spend another day vomiting slugs, Ron. Here." He returned the length of wood calmly, staring pointedly at the other until he turned moodily and returned to the pack of Gryffindors.

Harry made a show of shoving the hawthorn wand back at Draco, pressing it into his chest. As he did so, though, he leaned closer and hissed urgently, "Your eyes! Lower your eyes!"

For a second, the blonde stared back at him in perplexity before realisation hit. Instantly – and for the first time in his life – he did what Potter told him, silently cursing himself.

Sure enough, using the tip of his tongue, he could feel the slight point of his front teeth, and knew that the dark metal grey of his eyes must have changed to the eerie white-blue Severus had described.

It was his temper. The features were showing through because he was angry. _Fuck_, this was going to be impossible.

xxx

When classes were over, he was faced with the dilemma of explaining to his Housemates exactly why he wasn't going to be staying in the dorm room anymore.

"Uhm, Draco?" Blaise started off the discussion as he descended the stairs into the common room, having just dumped his work bag on his bed. "Is there a reason why all of your stuff is gone?"

Pansy, who had been prattling on mindlessly about something or other, fell sharply quiet and turned to look at the blonde.

Draco fell easily into the role he'd made up in his head, the practiced lie given to him by Dumbledore coming easily to his lips. He smirked smugly, every little detail about him screaming, _I'm better than you_.

"Father thinks it's ridiculous for a boy my age to be sharing a room. Especially a Malfoy. He's convinced the Headmaster to give me my own."

Blaise raised an impressed eyebrow and let out a low whistle, while Pansy suddenly took on a calculating look. "Imagine the _privacy_…" Not bothering to be coy, she looked Draco up and down suggestively and winked.

He rolled his eyes, used to her flirting. "Yes, very subtle, Pansy."

She laughed. "Who wants to be subtle?"

Blaise dropped into a chair by the fire, a book falling open in his lap. He looked up at Draco to ask, "Hey, you're still going to hang out here in the common room, though, aren't you?"

He tutted. "Obviously. I'm not a _hermit_, Blaise." Shaking his head, he moved to the nearest table and dropped his bag onto it, intending to get at least one essay done.

Pansy stared at him. "You're not doing homework _now_? Class only finished ten minutes ago!"

He shrugged. "I have a lot to do," he answered defensively.

"Geek," she accused, grinning.

Draco blinked in surprise, struck wordless for the moment. That, he had to admit, was a first. "I am not a _geek_!" he managed finally.

She raised an eyebrow. "Whatever. Let us know before you leave tonight, okay?" And with that she disappeared into the girls' dormitory, leaving Draco to glare after her and Blaise attempting to hide his amusement.

xxx

Eventually, of course, it couldn't be put off any longer. He said his goodbyes and left the Slytherin common room, ghosting through the deserted dungeon halls toward his new room. Lilith, the portrait, made eyes at him, but other than to speak the password – "_Draconis_." – he ignored her.

Stepping inside made him shiver. The only impression of his new living quarters to make any impact on him was… quiet. It was so quiet, so empty. He was used to noise and activity, used to constant interaction, whether it was positive or negative.

Stepping further in, he shrugged off the school robe, draping it across the back of the couch that sat in the first room. Casting a glance around him, he was about to continue on into the bedroom when he saw it.

The same goblet from last night sat in the centre of the low coffee table, the liquid it held bubbling slightly. Draco froze. Like a nightmare, he'd half forgotten it existed until he was confronted by it.

Its presence, more than anything else, was what made everything abruptly hit home. This was it. This was his life now. He was to be kept away from people, confined in separate rooms and trapped into secrecy. He could never tell anyone, of course. He'd have to live alone somewhere for the rest of his life, not trusting anyone else not to ruin him if they found out. And this potion… this potion he'd be taking forever.

He sat down heavily, cup in hand, staring at nothing. The sight of his future was blinding him.

Severus had promised that the second transformation wouldn't be nearly as bad as the first – and he must have been telling the truth, otherwise Draco would never have been let out of the hospital wing – but even so, he could feel the beginnings of fear gnawing at his edges. He didn't _want_ to do it again. The concept sounded childish in his head, and it was, but he couldn't help it. He purely _did not want _to go through it again.

It was the sense of inevitability that was crushing him.

Never in his life had Draco come up against something he couldn't change. If he didn't like something, it was altered. If something broke, it was fixed. He was _Draco Malfoy_, spoiled brat of the century! _He was supposed to be able to fix this_!

The clock chimed suddenly, startling him. He glanced at it, seeing that there was almost half an hour until sunset. Bracing himself for the taste, he raised the goblet and drank down the potion quickly.

Then, stiffly, he stood up from the couch and made his way into the bedroom. Once there, he undressed quickly and hung up his shirt and jeans in the spacey wardrobe he'd had moved to the room. He didn't put on pyjamas, knowing they'd only rip within the next few minutes if he did.

Shivering in the cool air, he crossed to the bed and lowered himself onto it. His movements were listless, but he forced himself to pull back the covers and slide beneath them.

There, he curled up tightly and waited for the moon, wishing uselessly that he could be back in the Slytherin dorms, listening to Pansy's prattle and Blaise's patient murmurs.

xxx

Hermione sighed and worried her lip. For a little while there, she'd though Harry was returning to normal. He'd been livelier in the last couple of days, and not nearly as snappish with them all. He'd even had the state of mind to break up a fight between Ron and Malfoy, instead of being angry enough to join in! That, surely, had to be a good sign.

But now… In the space of the last hour, she'd watched helplessly as he withdrew into himself yet again. In the middle of playing chess with Ron, Harry had seemed abruptly to lose interest. Not just in the game, but in _them_. He'd fallen silent and hadn't responded when spoken to. Hermione didn't think he was purposely ignoring them – he just wasn't hearing them.

And so he sat staring wordlessly at the portrait hole in the common room wall. Hermione knew what was coming before he ever opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm gonna go for a walk," he muttered finally, standing up.

Ron looked up sharply with a frown. "Harry, mate, its well past curfew. I'm all for flaunting school rules, but…"

The other boy shrugged. "I'll take my invisibility cloak," he answered dismissively.

His friends cast resigned, anxious looks at each other.

"And the map," Harry added, "if it makes you feel any better."

xxx

Harry wanted, desperately, to be alone. Like the many times before, the longing for isolation had come on him suddenly. So now he wandered, unseen under his cloak, through the deserted castle halls, Marauders Map in hand and eyes scanning it intently.

At this time of night, the names on the parchment were all clustered together in groups. There was the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories, on the second floor, and Ravenclaw one floor above them. His own Housemates were all gathered up in the Gryffindor tower, and the Slytherins far below in the dungeons.

Most of the professors' names floated around the area Harry assumed were the staff rooms, the exceptions being Snape – who, as far as Harry knew, refused to stay too long anywhere that wasn't his precious potions lab – and the Headmaster, who was in his office. Filch, he noticed, was currently prowling the Astronomy tower. The only other name that stood out alone was his own, and–

Harry blinked in surprise. It was perhaps six years of habit, but as soon as he saw the tight, neat writing spelling out the name _Draco Malfoy_ on its own at the outskirts of the dungeons, suspicion rose in him instantly. His mind formed its own conclusions within seconds, spinning out disjointed ideas about Slytherins, spies and Death Eater fathers, such as Lucius Malfoy. What was Malfoy _doing_, down there one his own? Why–?

Then he stopped himself, shaking his head at his own paranoia and feeling a trickle of guilt. He also felt more than a little dumb.

Only that morning he'd stood there and listened while Dumbledore made special arrangements to get Malfoy his own room. And not only that – by now, surely, he should be well aware of _why _the Slytherin was getting those arrangements!

Scowling at himself, he put the map away and strode quickly away from Gryffindor tower.

xxx

The Room of Requirement had served him well in the last month or so, when it was impossible or inconvenient to go stand by the lake. It was the perfect place he could come to be alone, and no one would find him – which was extremely helpful, as he was well aware that Ron and Hermione had followed him more than once in an attempt to discover his hiding place.

He didn't know why they were so worried. Anyone would think that he came back to them with cuts across his wrists or something ridiculous like that. He wasn't hurting himself, taking drugs or even letting his grades slip! There was nothing wrong with him, except the occasional need to just… get away. It would have been nice, if they'd just accept that…

Sighing, he stepped into the room and slipped out of the silvery cloak. The magical space around him had transformed itself into a bedroom, of sorts. A four poster bed sat in the centre, though it wasn't decorated with Gryffindor colours, but rather dark, old fashioned covers. In fact, most of the décor was dark and old fashioned. It was a practical copy of his room at Grimmauld Place.

Really, Harry thought, Hermione had no reason to disapprove of what he was doing. If she knew, she'd probably encourage him. This was extracurricular work, after all.

Sinking onto the bed, he picked up the book which still sat exactly where he'd left it, glancing over the title as he settled himself comfortably. It read, _Finding Your Inner Animagus_.

He'd made his way through more than half of it now. His progress was slow, since he read and reread whole chapters as he attempted to complete each step in the instructions it gave. By now, he thought he knew what his form would be, and had to make sure to keep that idea in mind as he went through the rest of the book.

And so he read avidly, pausing only now and then to absorb certain facts, or to clear his vision when it swam slightly. Sometimes, during these moments, his thoughts drifted to the only other student that was alone at this hour, and he wondered absently if the newly cursed werewolf was enjoying the solitude as much as he was.


	6. Lupin's Losin' It

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 6**: Lupin's Losin' It

xxx

The days began to even out as life, in that insufferable habit it has, returned to a slower pace.

In the weekend after the full moon, Draco was to be found at any hour of the day inside the Slytherin common room, revelling in the fact that he could safely stay the night if he so wished. He did just that, of course, claiming that by the time Pansy slyly pointed out the existence of his own room, it was far too late for him to return to it. She hadn't been fooled, he knew, but then, he hadn't been trying particularly hard to fool her. And so, he'd spent the two lazy days doing nothing but flirting with the blond girl and listening to Blaise's tactless jokes, all the while trying his hardest to convince himself he could still be a _proper _part of all this, if he wanted to be. As for his… _problem_, the undercurrent of denial had resumed its course, and Draco was determined only to confront it again next month.

Meanwhile, Harry went through phases of happily throwing himself into his friends' activities, and then countering it all with the hours in which he purposely separated himself from them, frantically trying to put distance between himself and other people. He didn't know why the longing sometimes came over him, but it had been happening for so long now that the need didn't seem unusual anymore. Those hours were always either spent in the Room of Requirement, continuing his study, or standing at the edge of the lake. In those times, he would stare listlessly out at the vast stretch of blank water, trying not to remember.

Hermione, as always, fretted over the strange habits of her best friend. If possible, this new, almost… bipolar version of Harry worried her more than the constantly depressed one of a week ago. She could understand him being depressed, in the wake of Sirius's death, but this… One minute he was acting like nothing was wrong, and the next it was like he couldn't stand to spend another moment around them. Not only did it hurt, it… It was unhealthy, surely! For a while, she'd thought that Harry had been called to Dumbledore's office to discuss his behaviour, but when asked, Harry had said it was to do with Order business, and that the Headmaster had sworn him to secrecy. And so, she came up with an idea she hoped would snap him out of it for good…

Ron worried, as well, but perhaps his concerns were less in-depth that Hermione's. The redhead only saw Harry stepping in to stop him thrashing Malfoy – something Ron was sure Harry would have enjoyed any other time. He'd heard that people sometimes became passive when they were depressed, and decided that he'd just have to keep an extra eye out for his best friend, make sure certain blond prats didn't take advantage of the situation. Ron also worried that Harry's performance in the upcoming Quiddich match might suffer, though he'd never voice such things aloud. As far as he knew, Harry had never before allowed his personal life to interfere with his game – but then, things had never really been this bad before…

But despite these miniature melodramas, life was, in general, returning to normal – or as near to it as Hogwarts could ever be.

So it came as a true shock to Severus Snape when he was woken in the wee hours of Monday morning by urgent pounding on the door to his rooms. Possibilities flying through his head – something to do with Draco, surely; no, it would be Dumbledore, with some new, urgent mission for him; or maybe Potter, into yet more trouble – he scrambled out of bed, throwing on a dark blue dressing robe as he went, and hurried to answer the caller, who had yet to cease the incessant banging.

Throwing open the door which guarded his private rooms, both his irritation and alarm showing on his face, the Potions Master was greeted with the astounding sight of one very dishevelled Remus Lupin.

The man was dressed in bland blue and white striped pyjamas. He'd also thrown on a threadbare dark red robe, but hadn't quite managed to tie it properly, and the shoulders were wet through with rain from his walk up to the castle, since he was now occupying Hagrid's hut along with his teaching position.

"S-S-Severus," Lupin stuttered, his teeth chattering. He was staring fixedly at the ground between them as rainwater dripped from his fringe. The werewolf's entire body was shivering, his arms wrapped tightly around himself – but for some reason, Snape doubted that it was from the cold.

"What are you doing here?" he spat, his dislike for the creature in front of him evident. The Potion Master's mind worked oddly, in that it could guiltlessly condemn Lupin as an animal, but condone Draco as an innocent victim, all without the two concepts ever clashing.

Finally, the man before him raised his gaze, his eyes pure amber. He looked very much like a beaten dog in that moment. "I n-need your help, Severus. P-please…"

Severus raised an eyebrow sharply, his expression disdainful. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, but you're obviously out of your mind, coming here at this time with whatever nonsense –"

"Severus!" Abruptly, Lupin threw himself forward, hands grasping at the other man's dressing robe. "Please! Don't send me away… Please, gods, make it stop!"

Unnerved, Severus clung desperately to his self control, determined not to show any flicker of emotion other than loathing, even as the werewolf looked more and more unhinged by the second. He jerked away from the unwanted touch, brandishing his wand, which seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

The sight of it brought the slightest bit of clarity back to the amber eyes. Lupin looked momentarily appalled by his own loss of control, before the anguished look was back in place. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's just… Severus, you _have _to help!"

"What the _hell _is wrong with you tonight?" Severus demanded furiously. It showed just how off guard Lupin's unannounced arrival had put him, for him to curse so blatantly rather than use his customary slow drawl.

The werewolf shook his head, looked down, and then suddenly he was pushing past Severus, striding into his _private _rooms! The Potions Master couldn't bring himself to yell the things cluttering his mind, so strong was his disbelief at the man's audacity. He turned, watching in astonishment as Lupin proceeded to pace like a caged animal, his hands fidgeting continuously, the oddly out of place boots he was wearing leaving specks of mud here and there.

"Lupin!" he finally managed to sputter, his glare lethal.

But the werewolf didn't even seem to hear him. "I haven't slept, Severus. Not in days, not since… I can't stop _thinking_! About-about what I did, and how he's going to have to live for the rest of his life, a boy like that, and-and-and _Sirius_! Oh god, make it stop! I need to stop _thinking_!"

Severus watched him in silence, not quite able to hide his own reactions. He gave a shudder, repulsed by how undone the man had become. His babbling made him sound half insane, and the Potions Master wondered, tensely, if he really was as far gone as he sounded right then.

Abruptly, the pacing stopped and flashing amber eyes fixed on him.

"That's why I came here," the wolf hissed. "You can make it stop! I know you can! You taught Harry to block his thoughts…"

Realising what Lupin was getting at, Severus stared at him incredulously. "I did no such thing! I tried to teach him Occlumency for an entirely different purpose– What a thoroughly _stupid_, disrespectful excuse for an idea! I wouldn't disgrace such magic by even _indulging _your pathetic whim!"

Lupin growled and turned away. "Something else then! A potion. Dreamless Sleep – gods, _something_!"

Severus's lip curled in disgust as he stared at the wreck of a man. "Go to Pomfrey, do _not _come disturbing me in the middle of the night!"

But yet again, he had the odd feeling his unwanted visitor wasn't even hearing him. Lupin had resumed pacing, and when he spoke, it was as if he were talking to himself. "Albus hasn't even said anything. Sent Minerva to me, made sure I took the potion. He won't speak to me, though, not directly. Won't even punish me, even when I asked…"

Growing tired of the disjointed mutterings, Severus yanked the door back open and snarled, "Get _out_, Lupin. It's late and I don't have time for your masochistic ramblings."

The other man turned a wild stare on him, shaking his head faintly. "No! Severus, I need to _sleep_! You have to have a potion or-or-or _something_!"

"_I have nothing I intend to give to the likes of you_!" The furious scream escaped him before he had the chance to repress it. Caught up in his anger, he gripped the werewolf's arm and shoved him forcefully out of his room, back into the corridor. Then, leaning forward slightly, he spoke quietly.

"Listen very carefully to me. I will not help you. I will not _ever _help you. If you were to lose your mind through this, it's nothing less than you deserve for what you've done to my godson! You want punishment, Lupin? _This _is your punishment! I hope you never sleep again!"

The resounding _**slam!**_ which followed__woke up half the Slytherin dorm.

xxx

"Has anyone else noticed that Professor Lupin seems a bit… out of it?"

First lesson on Monday morning and the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were gathered outside near the edge of the forest, supposedly discussing the lifestyles of centaurs.

Harry glanced fleetingly at Ron, who had spoken, before returning his concerned gaze to the man who was teaching them.

Lupin had never looked so ill. The man's face was colourless, except for the large, dark purple smudges under his eyes. Sometimes, when he made some half-hearted gesture, the surrounding students clearly saw his hands shaking. More than once he'd stammered now, and even lost his train of thought in the middle of speaking at least twice since the lesson began.

"Do you think…" Hermione whispered, "Do you think it has something to do with _that time of the month_?"

The redhead rolled his eyes. "You _can _say it, y'know. Everyone in the school knows what he is."

She frowned at him. "I'm just being tactful. Something you'd know nothing about, Ronald Weasley."

Harry stopped listening as they sniped at each other. In truth, he doubted Remus's condition had anything to do with the full moon, which had ended on Friday night. Besides, Malfoy looked perfectly fine, and he'd gone through the same transformation. In fact, the blond had haughtily resumed his throne as Slytherin prince, and was all the more obnoxious for it. If Harry had hoped the other might learn some humility or – God forbid – even empathy from his misfortune, he was being proven very, very wrong. Malfoy was worse than ever. He'd spent the morning jeering at Gryffindors, and it was obvious – to Harry, at least – that he was set upon tormenting Lupin. The older werewolf would turn even paler every time he accidentally set eyes on the Slytherin, who was continuously drawing attention to himself just so he could cause this very reaction.

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Stupid prat, trying to bait Remus…

He turned back to his friends, noticing that Seamus had joined the pair. "Aye," the Irish boy was muttering. "You ask me, Lupin's losin' it."

For a moment, Harry bristled on behalf of his favourite teacher, but then he sighed, casting another look at Remus's tired form. Really, he couldn't help but agree.

xxx

Draco turned away as yet another unknown scent drifted past him. That had been happening all weekend, getting worse and worse. It was driving him insane. Everything he did, he was being distracted by a thousand different smells he never would have noticed a few days ago.

The potions lab, as much as he loved the lesson, was pure hell. He'd visited Severus over the weekend, and had been forced to leave the room hurriedly after bursting into a particularly violent sneezing fit near a bubbling cauldron. The Great Hall during meal times was similarly overpowering, as was the common room and almost any other place which accumulated people.

He'd been forced to continuously distance himself from Blaise, who'd done nothing more than change his cologne to something that didn't really agree with Draco's newly sensitive nose. And _Pansy_…! He shuddered, remembering his disturbing discovery of how they shared 'that time of the month'. When he'd finally identified the odd scent that surrounded the girl, he'd all but hurled himself away from her, much to her surprise. He'd had a hard time explaining that one.

And the noise! That was almost worse. It was as if everyone in the bloody school was on some secret mission to deafen him. They were all so _loud_…

It was safe to say that his new, unwanted wolfish senses weren't exactly the superpowers he'd always dreamed of.

Sighing, he shook himself from his thoughts. Pansy and Blaise had gone ahead to the Slytherin common room, while he stopped off at his own rooms. He needed a few minutes alone, to get away from the sights, smells and sounds of so many people. How ironic, he thought bitterly, that the curse would force him into isolation even when he wasn't about to transform.

Lilith saw him coming, and instantly the dark-haired, pale-skinned sorceress was preening in a way he'd grown used to already. Her hooded eyes were half lidded in a way he was sure she thought seductive.

"_Drac_–" he began to mutter the password, only to be interrupted.

"Malfoy!"

Turning, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of Potter storming toward him, looking pissed off. Draco wondered if this would be more or less amusing than the Suicidal Saviour he'd grown used to.

"Potter."

The dark haired Gryffindor glared at him as he drew nearer, daring to invade personal space as he jabbed an angry finger at the Slytherin, and once again Draco wrinkled his nose as human scents swept toward him.

"I know what you're doing!" Potter accused. "You're trying to torment him!"

The blond pointedly took a step backwards, his expression carefully blank. "So?" he retorted calmly.

Green eyes widened incredulously behind the glass frames. "So? Malfoy, have you _seen _him? This is destroying him! He's gone through more than –"

"Oh, _shut up _Potter!" he snapped abruptly, silencing the other for the moment. "Has it occurred to you that me making him feel guilty occasionally is the very least I could do? And I don't _care _what he's been through, I care what he _did_."

The Gryffindor visibly hesitated, his anger dimming slightly. He rebounded, of course, much to Draco's annoyance. "Look, I understand what happened was… terrible. But… But it wasn't his fault, Malfoy!"

The blonde grit his teeth and tried hard not to growl. Anxiousness radiated off Potter as the other boy dithered in front of him. He smelled of… sweat and grass-stains and ink and a hundred other things. Draco wrinkled his nose slightly, but was glad there was no trace of artificial colognes and the like. That was all he needed; to burst into uncontrollable sneezing while he was trying to remain superior.

"It certainly wasn't mine!" he snapped when he was in control of himself.

"Well, it's not like you haven't done enough to deserve –"

Draco's hands were on his shoulders in an instant, and Harry found himself slammed up against the wall by the smaller boy. He went for his wand instinctively, but Draco knocked it away, and the next thing he knew the blonde's forearm was across his throat. The Slytherin's eyes had changed yet again to those of the wolf, his pupils contracting to pinpricks. Harry gasped, but couldn't utter a word against the pressure Draco was using to choke him. He clawed and shoved at the other boy, but nothing moved him. He was fighting against a werewolf, and was powerless.

Draco's voice was deadly when he spoke. "Did you just say I _deserved _this, Potter?" he hissed, leaning very close.

Harry, of course, couldn't respond until the blonde released him, which he did only partially, lightening the pressure he was applying just enough for his rival to answer him.

The Gryffindor glared at the werewolf, longing for his wand, which he could see some distance away on the floor. "That wasn't what I meant," he ground out, furious as his helpless position.

Again, Draco growled lowly under his breath. Harry could feel the other's breath on his face. It might have been a romantic position they were in, with Draco pinning him in place and leaning in entirely too close, but the image was ruined by the fury on the blonde's face and Harry's simmering outrage.

Slowly, the Slytherin's eyes began to darken again, regaining colour until they were back to their natural grey. He sneered at the Gryffindor Golden Boy. "Keep in mind, Potter – whether I deserved this or not, I'm perfectly capable of passing it on." He showed his teeth in a parody of a smile.

Harry stared at him silently, unmoving.

Abruptly, Draco smirked, stepping backwards and finally releasing the other. "What do you know? Wolves _can _smell fear." Then, turning on his heel, he strode straight past the portrait of Lilith, forgetting in his anger that he'd ever intended to stop there.

He spoke viciously as he went, voice drifting back over his shoulder. "Maybe just once, Potter, the _victim _you're looking to defend isn't a beloved _Gryffindor_."

Harry moved to pick up his wand, watching the blond go, his face devoid of emotion.


	7. Gryffindor Rulz

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 7**: Gryffindor Rulz

xxx

Draco had no idea why he'd come to watch the match. Merlin, he despised both teams. As if Hufflepuff wasn't laughable enough, drifting around up there with their pleasantly dazed expressions, they were facing off against _Gryffindor_, for crying out loud! What a mockery of a game…

Well, maybe he might get the odd laugh out of it. It'd be vaguely amusing to see Potter fall off his broom.

He sat back in his seat sullenly and waited for it to begin in earnest. The annoying Irish accent of Finnegan rang out from the commentator's box – convenient, how yet another Gryffindor had been given that role – as he called off the names in each team.

"And secondly, playing for my very own House, we have captain Katie Bell playing as Chaser, alongside Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley. Beaters, with the unfortunate loss of our infamous Weasley twins, are now Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke. Ron Weasley playing Keeper, and of course, Harry Potter as Seeker!"

Draco miserably pressed his hands over his ears in an attempt to muffle the ensuing round of applause. Oh, there was no way he was going to enjoy this…

xxx

The sharp burst of the whistle split the crisp, cold air, and Harry kicked off cleanly, shooting into the sky atop the Firebolt. He twisted in midair and sped off to the north side of the pitch, darting easily around other players. He maintained the high speed for a few minutes, just trying to get the rush of flying out of his blood before he set about methodically searching for the Snitch.

"And Hufflepuff's Cadwallader passes the Quaffle to Smith, who passes it back, and – oh! Stolen by Miss Ginerva Weasley! On to Thomas, on to Bell – and Gryffindor scores first goal of the match! Never in doubt, never in doubt…"

Harry smiled at the Irish boy's commentary. Seamus wasn't quite as blatant in his support for his House as Lee Jordan had been, but anyone listening could tell who he fully expected to win.

Harry turned his eyes downwards, searching for the glint of gold he was supposed to be hunting. Cedric's replacement, Summerby, hovered at the other end of the pitch opposite Harry. The two Seekers drifted slowly, gazes darting continuously.

"And Weasley blocks another Hufflepuff goal! Getting good at that, he is. Girl Weasley in possession of the Quaffle, heading for – Oh! She's hit by a Bludger! Both Kirke and Sloper failing to deflect, there!"

The Gryffindor Seeker spun in midair, his eyes searching for Ginny now. She was still on her broom, with a hand pressed to her side while she threw vicious glares at the two Beaters meant to protect her. Least she was okay, he thought with relief.

"Harry, mate! What are you doing?"

He turned at the sound of Ron's voice, only to see the redhead pointing urgently behind him. Following the indicated direction, Harry was met with the sight of Summerby heading into a full on dive, a determined look on his face.

"Hufflepuff's Seeker's seen something! He's after the Snitch! But where's Potter? If he doesn't catch this one, Hefflepuff'll be off to a head start early in the– Oh! Wait! Here we go, Potter's seen it too! He's after Summerby and gaining distance… Put that Firebolt to work, man!"

Harry flattened himself against the broom handle, his eyes trying to follow the other Seeker's line of flight. But he couldn't see whatever had attracted Summerby's attention, though. There was nothing–

A glint of gold, but not in the direction he was heading. Harry whipped his head around, searching for the sight again, finally finding it hovering to his right near the edge of the pitch. Realising his near mistake in allowing the other Seeker to fool him into following a feign, he jerked harshly on the broom handle and shot off after his target.

"What? Where's Potter going? And now Summerby's following _him_! It seems we had a bluff! Ah, but Hufflepuff's Seeker ain't got a chance of keeping pace with a broom like that. Look at it go! Work of art, that, work of art…"

Harry braced his ankles around the Firebolt firmly and leaned forward, extending an arm. He could feel the frantic flutters of air from the Snitch's wings tickling the tips of his fingers, the golden object just out of reach by a few centimetres.

Quite suddenly, it zipped upwards into the open air and he followed it. It dropped again almost instantly, and in pursuit of the thing he found himself practically in the midst of the spectators. Trying to ignore the rise in screams as he skimmed over their heads, he threw himself forward in a final burst of speed and felt his fingers close over the elusive little ball.

"Did he just…? He did! Potter caught the Snitch! GRYFFINDOR WIN! 180-20!"

Smiling to himself, Harry descended swiftly to join the rest of his team.

xxx

That night, the Gryffindor common room was as loud and boisterous as it had ever been in the wake of a Quiddich victory, but for once Harry was content to remain in the company of his friends. He listened and laughed as Ron retold tales of how the Slytherins had shrieked when Harry had flown over their heads, and how Snape had looked about to curse him when he'd been forced the throw himself into Trelawny to avoid getting clipped by the Firebolt's tail. Harry grinned idiotically through most of the evening, as relieved as anyone by his own good mood.

Hermione, ecstatic to see him acting like the Harry she was used to, fully intended to take advantage of the rare phase of happiness to broach her idea.

She waited until Harry was done listening to Ron's wild and amusing stories – during which he'd snorted inelegantly into his bottle of Butterbeer when the redhead surprised him into laughing, resulting in the rather sticky stains which were currently covering his robes. When the two finally separated, Harry caught sight of her and grinned, coming to join her by the fire.

She smiled at him easily. "Having fun?"

He nodded. "Course. Are you?"

"Yes. Harry, I wanted to ask you something." Why not launch straight into it, before he got distracted again?

He blinked. "Uhm, sure. What is it?"

"I've been thinking…" she began, turning to look at him fully. "At least ten people have asked me if we're going to be continuing the DA this year. I guess I was wondering if that would be… well, okay? I think it'd be good for you, to have something to concentrate on."

He looked surprised for a moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, that's fine Hermione. I didn't know people even wanted to do it again."

Taken aback by his quick agreement, she took a moment to respond. She'd been expecting _some_ sort of protest, considering the fight he'd put up against it in the first place.

"Uhm, yes. I mean, they do. It was helpful, Harry, and _fun_. Almost everyone who was a member last time wants to stay a part of it."

He turned green eyes on her that were, for once, alight. "I'd like that. Haven't really thought about it, but I guess… I missed it. Will you sort out the first meeting?"

She rolled her eyes at that. "You can never organise _anything_…" But she was smiling, and happy to sort out the details.

xxx

When he returned to his room that night, the letter was waiting for him, as was the well known owl perched upon the coffee table. It turned cold eyes upon him when he entered.

_Dear Draco,_

_At sixteen years of age, you are by now ready to begin following in my footsteps. In light of this, I've begun making preparations that will enable you to do just that. _

_In just less than a month from now, during the Hogsmeade weekend, instead of remaining in the castle for those two days, you will be returning home for a visit at Malfoy Manor. It is time you were introduced to the real aspects of life, and I expect you to handle them in an adult fashion. I suggest you spend the next few weeks considering your priorities. _

_I am, however, confident that you will make me proud, Draco. You have been prepared for this turning point, which is why I know you'll take the correct path. _

_Your Father,_

_Lucius A. Malfoy_

Draco stared at the letter for long minutes, reading fragments of it over and over again. He knew perfectly well what his father was referring to, though the wording was ambiguous enough. And it scared him, certainly, but what scared him more was one tiny phrasing.

_In just less than a month… _

The words practically screamed at him, and he knew, he just _knew_…

Grabbing at his schoolbag, he emptied the contents onto the floor in front of him, scrabbling through the mess that fell out. He tossed aside books and bits of parchment until he found what he was looking for.

Opening out the large chart used in Astrology, he lay it out in front of him. It showed the lunar cycle imprinted across a calendar, showing which date coincided with certain cycles of the moon. He traced a finger down it, searching for the right date.

Sure enough, as he'd known it would, his second full moon matched up exactly with the Hogsmeade weekend – the weekend his father wanted him to spend at home.

The weekend he would be Marked.


	8. No Loyalty In A Snake

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 8**: No Loyalty In A Snake

xxx

Draco felt the very strong urge to be sick.

No, no, no – Merlin, _no_, this could _not _be happening! Not without warning. Not so soon! He looked desperately between the lunar chart and the letter, somewhere in the back of his mind sure there had been a mistake. There _had _to have been!

A shrill screech from the bird had him twitching in fright, and he cast it a surprised look, having forgotten its existence.

"N-no response," he whispered, and watched as his father's owl took flight towards the window in his bedroom.

Marked. His father wanted him to be _Marked_. His father, who was oblivious to what his son had become, oblivious to what it would mean. And dear gods, he had to pick _that _weekend, didn't he? Maybe, if it had been any other time…

Draco shivered. But it wasn't. It was then – and there was nothing in the world that could convince him to be near his father during a full moon ever again.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk feeling every one of his hundred-plus years. He was _tired_, and perhaps if they hadn't been in the middle of war, he would have been allowed to rest. But as it was, every time he closed his eyes just for a moment, it seemed a dozen more problems had sprung into existence when he opened them again.

On his desk was Severus's pensieve, and he stared at the swirling silver contents grimly. He had watched the memories of his Potions Master and been troubled, but once again there was so little he could do.

And beside that was yet another of Remus's resignation letters. The older werewolf had been trying to quit his job and flee the castle ever since the incident, though only he and Albus knew about it. The first chance he'd been able to, Remus had come to the Headmaster to personally retire, and Albus had done the only thing he could – denied the request.

He couldn't allow the man to leave just yet, no matter how much Severus yelled and protested and demanded explanations. He would be needed; if not now, then soon. And if Remus was still set upon repentance, Albus felt sadly sure that there would be many opportunities in the coming future.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking. He started, glancing at Fawkes. The phoenix only turned its head towards the office door.

Waving his wand, he watched as the heavy door swung open to reveal the Malfoy boy standing on the threshold, his manner reluctant. In his hand he clutched a piece of paper which he pressed against him almost protectively.

"Mr Malfoy," he greeted, not quite able to keep the surprise from his voice. "Is something wrong?"

The blond entered hesitantly, casting wary glances at Fawkes as he passed, coming to stand on the other side of the desk. Wordlessly, he placed the piece of paper down next to the pensieve. It fluttered slightly as his hand trembled.

Frowning softly, Dumbledore reached out and took the thing, sliding it toward him for examination. A swift inspection told him it was a letter from Lucius Malfoy, and instantly his foreboding set in.

"He wants me to be Marked," the boy whispered, his voice barely audible. He was looking down, unable to meet the old man's eyes. Dumbledore could only guess how much of a betrayal this admission would be seen as. "He wants to do it on the weekend of the next… the next –"

"I understand, Mr Malfoy," the Headmaster cut him off sympathetically. "And such a thing cannot be allowed… if only for your own sake."

The Slytherin gave a twitch that was supposed to be a nod, still staring fixedly downwards.

Dumbledore sighed and sat back, raising a hand to rub wearily at his eyes. Problems spawning out of problems.

"Draco," he said eventually. "Tell me why you have come to me."

The blond finally raised his eyes, darker than ever. "I can't go. You _know _I can't. If I were to take the Dark Mark, I wouldn't be a Death Eater – I'd be a _pet_. Worse, probably. I'm almost as bad as a Mud– Muggleborn now."

Dumbledore said nothing at the slip of the tongue – and, more importantly, the correction – merely raising an eyebrow. He steepled his fingers and closed his eyes, thinking.

"And if Professor Lupin had not bitten you several nights ago?" he asked after a few minutes had trickled by. "What would you have done then, Mr Malfoy?"

The Slytherin didn't answer until sharp blue eyes were turned upon him. He flushed and looked away.

"T-the only reason I came to you now is because it's in my own best interests," Draco answered truthfully, if a little nervously. "If… If Father had written to me a fortnight ago, or a month ago, I would have made the choice that was best for me then."

Dumbledore showed no reaction except to go on staring piercingly at the boy, considering the concept of loyalty. There was so little of it in the Slytherin, though he didn't seem at all ashamed by that fact. This was an individual concerned with his own welfare, and prepared to distance himself from anything he deemed a threat – even if that thing was his father. Similarly, if circumstances had been different, the boy might have been happily fighting for the other side right now.

Frowning thoughtfully, Dumbledore idly picked up his wand, placing it in his lap. "Very well, Mr Malfoy. I assume you're here to ask for my protection?"

Wordless, the other nodded.

"Then I am going to ask you to swear to me, in the same way I asked Harry and the others to swear to you. Do you understand? If you agree, there will be no switching sides after this. On the other hand, you will have my protection and my school as sanctuary from your father and any others who work for Voldemort."

Draco swallowed, trying to brace himself. He had expected this. The Headmaster really would be a fool if he was prepared to trust word alone. But even so, the reality of what was happening seemed determined to crash down on him. Merlin, he'd never imagined himself in this position…

"I understand, sir."

The old man nodded firmly. "Good, good, my boy. Are you ready?"

Draco nodded, closing his eyes in something that _was not _a wince…

Dumbledore stood and began to speak. The magic was audible in his voice. "You will swear to me your loyalty as a student and a wizard. This means you will be expected to do what is in your power to help myself, Harry Potter, or any other member of the Order of the Phoenix if the matter is serious enough. If you cannot help, you will not hinder. You will do what I ask of you, trusting that I also have your best interests at heart. These rules will bind you until the war is truly declared over. Do you so swear?"

Draco wanted to curl up and die with every clause in his contract of loyalty, but when asked, he answered simply, "I swear."

Instantly, the silver star of light shot from Dumbledore's wand and struck him in the chest, as he'd seen it do to all the others who'd sworn secrecy for him. It was warm and heavy, and took long moments of getting used to. He concentrated on the sensation rather than what he'd just done.

Dumbledore was gazing at him with infuriating pity. "I'm sorry, my boy. I know this isn't what you would have wanted…"

Determined to get it all over with as soon as possible, Draco jerked his head towards the letter still lying on the desk. "How should I reply, sir?"

"I suggest you don't, Mr Malfoy. Lucius will realise soon enough that you don't intend on joining him for a weekend visit. I shall make the arrangements for you remain at Hogwarts during holidays."

The Slytherin jerked his head sharply in acknowledgement, before turning and walking back towards the door. He didn't look back, and was silent until he got to the bottom of the spiral staircase which led from the Headmaster's office.

He refused to show gratitude for his own entrapment.

xxx

Dumbledore watched the Slytherin disappear from the office before returning his attention to the first dilemmas of the day. Setting Lucius's letter aside, he glanced first at Remus's resignation, before carelessly tearing it in two and tossing the pieces into the wastepaper basket by his feet. That sorted, only Severus's pensieve remained.

He sighed, using his wand to stir up the liquid memories. Things were certainly beginning to escape his control. Severus had come to him first thing that morning with the urgent news.

He'd known that the day would come when Tom Riddle finally ceased to trust Severus, he'd just hoped that that day would be a long while from now. But no, it was happening already, and any advantage his spy might have provided him with was rapidly spiralling away. Tom had not yet openly turned on the Potions Master, but it was coming. The other Death Eaters despised him – had always despised him, really – but at least they'd once treated him with respect. Well, no longer.

He'd transferred his memories of his last summoning into the pensieve for Albus to view, and their contents disturbed the Headmaster greatly. He didn't know if he could afford to send Severus off again. It was only a matter of time, now, before Tom took it into his head to kill the Potions Master. No, Severus's use as a spy was coming to an end, which only meant he would soon be blind to the actions of the Dark Lord.

xxx

Harry, Hermione and Ron took their customary seats the next morning at the back of the Defence classroom, side by side. Ever since Snape had finally landed the job of DADA Professor, their enthusiasm for the subject had swiftly faded. It was like Potions all over again, only worse, as this was such a ruin of a perfectly good lesson…

"So when's the first meeting?" Harry asked as he rummaged through his bag in search of this year's Defence textbook. Finding it, he dropped the thick volume onto the desk in front of him.

Hermione took out her own book. "Well, I've asked around, and this Thursday seems good for everyone. Is that okay?"

"Day after tomorrow? Yeah, that's fine. Are we still using the Galleons?"

She smiled. "Yes. It's more tradition than anything else, though, since I don't think any of the Professors really mind what we're doing –"

At that moment, the door to the classroom opened and Snape strode through it, his black robes flaring behind him as usual. Ron had always been sure the snarky Professor used some sort of spell for that, though had never been able to prove it.

"Books out, wands away," came the short tempered order as Snape assumed his position at the front of the classroom, near the board. "Turn to the beginning of chapter ten and start reading."

Harry flipped open the cover and was starting to flick through the pages, looking for chapter ten, when he noticed Hermione's hand shoot up next to him. Ron, on his other side, groaned as he anticipated the coming loss of House points.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Professor, you've missed out chapter nine. Last week we'd just finished chapter eight, you see –"

"I'm well aware of where we finished last week, Granger," Snape snapped at her, each word cut short with irritation. "And I asked you to turn to chapter ten."

"But –"

"Ten points from Gryffindor. Care to make it twenty?"

Hermione seethingly fell silent, glaring down at the book as she found the correct page.

Harry didn't know what it was that made him check, only that he was suddenly riffling backwards through the book, searching for the title heading of chapter nine. Finding it, he stared for long moments, before raising his eyes to find Snape looking at him unblinkingly.

_**Chapter Nine**__: Identifying and Defending Against Dark Creatures: Werewolves _

Harry met the older man's eyes with the same intensity, and in that moment they understood each other. Harry suddenly saw the Potion Master's hypocrisy – outing Remus with this very trick, but protecting Malfoy – and in return, Snape knew he saw it, and could do nothing.

"Well, Potter?" the man said coldly. "Get reading."

Harry frowned but said nothing.


	9. Quest For Reassurance

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 9**: Quest For Reassurance

xxx

Two weeks later, the moon was a sliver in the night sky and Draco was in hell. Not through Dumbledore's meddling – which still stung to think about – but because of the sickness coursing through him.

He told himself it was a sickness, anyway, but he knew, really…

It was the curse. This _fucking _curse that seemed determined to destroy every tiny detail of his previously perfect life. Because of it, he was losing everything – right down to the loss of all his silver jewellery, for Merlin's sake…

His father wasn't one to be ignored, and had sent him letter after letter, finally ending in the scarlet red howler which had found him in the Great Hall. Lucius's cold, drawling voice had rang out for all to hear as he scorned Draco for being 'disobedient' and informed his son that he was being cut off until he came back to his missing senses. Draco had torn out of the Hall in fury and humiliation, the urge to hurt anything which got in his way surging through him.

At the time, he hadn't paid much attention to his own reaction.

But since then, it was only getting worse. His temper had quickly turned uncontrollable. The slightest mistake would send him into moods that lasted hours, and tiny slights were enough for him to start fights right, left and centre. He'd had more detentions and lost more House points in this last fortnight than the rest of his school career combined. The worst incident had involved Blaise, who'd made some innocent comment he couldn't even recall now, but which had caused him to storm from the Slytherin common room yelling obscenities. He'd never seen the other boy look so thoroughly stunned.

More than that, though. These moods weren't natural, he was sure. Rather than be satisfied with winning victories in the arguments he started, he'd begun to really, _really_ want to… hurt.

It had started with Potter – didn't it always? – when the idiot had made some flippant comment about Draco _deserving_ what had happened. The truth was… he hadn't actually intended to react the way he had. Thinking back, his own behaviour was… well, wrong. When was the last time _Draco Malfoy_ had engaged someone in a physical fight? The blond had long resigned himself to being small in size and not exactly strong, so his own actions in attacking the taller Gryffindor without the use of magic didn't make sense.

And as he'd stood there, with Potter pinned and helpless, it had sent a shiver of enjoyment through him he'd struggled to hide. In that brief moment, the curse hadn't seemed so bad. He was _strong_, able to put true fear into the infamous green eyes.

But that was before. Before the urge to hurt and attack and… and – fuck – _bite_ had set in.

He was being driven insane. In the middle of doing everyday tasks it would come upon him. One moment he was strolling the hallways alongside Pansy and the next his very mindset was flickering, changing, becoming vicious. His vision would fade until everything was shown in shades of grey, and the sound of the world around him would come rushing in as his hearing turned canine.

It wasn't hard to recognise the traits. The wolf was taking over.

So now he paced his room like a caged animal, forcing himself to remain in his self-imposed exile. He _couldn't _be around people! Merlin, the thought of what he might do…

He could feel the creature simmering beneath his own consciousness, its fury becoming his own, its feral wildness infecting him. He wondered if this was what Lupin had felt the night he'd lost control, and for the first time came close to understanding how the man had made the mistake.

He needed… _Merlin_, he didn't want to admit it… He needed help. Draco didn't have the first idea about how he was supposed to control this, but he knew Lupin did.

Joy, he snarled silently to himself.

xxx

Remus sat alone that evening, as he always did lately, refusing to frequent the castle unless he had to. Hagrid's hut had been transformed while he was staying there, and was now scattered with teetering towers of books and a collection of trinkets he'd acquired in his life. There was a foeglass in the corner, and a wizard's chess set near the fire. He'd been playing a game against himself for two days now. A pan of chicken soup was being kept warm by the embers in the hearth and the smell drifted pleasantly through the rest of the room.

He'd customised the furniture to his own tastes, transfiguring Hagrid's wooden chairs into large, squashy chintzes. The bed in the corner of the room had also been made slightly more comfortable with the addition of his own mattress, quilt and pillows. Fang's blanket on the floor had been done away with, as the dog had taken to sleeping on the foot of the bed with him. The general colour scheme was that of Gryffindor, which was more of a habit than anything else, though the reds he'd used were more faded than the school's bright crimson, and gold had been replaced by beige.

Sighing, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. On the table in front of him was next week's lesson plan, scrawled in his own messy hand. The quill had left black ink stains across his fingers.

Fang growled suddenly, lifting his head and staring at the small murky window. Remus glanced at the dog, then perked his own ears, trying to hear whatever had caught Fang's attention. But there was no sound except the repetitive tapping of winter rain on the glass.

Shaking his head, the werewolf stood and made his way over to the fireplace, where his meal of chicken soup awaited him. He was just crouching down to pick it up when something seemed to collide heavily with the wooden door. Fang was up and barking in an instant.

Frowning, he stood slowly and moved to join the dog, who was scratching and scrabbling at the base of the door.

"Move, boy," he ordered, taking its place to grasp the handle and pull.

One distressed looking Draco Malfoy, who had been using the door to prop himself up, promptly tumbled backwards into Remus's shocked hold.

But if the older werewolf had expected the other to stay put like that, he was mistaken. The next think Remus knew, he was being set upon by the growling blonde, all clumsy strength and fury. He was knocked backwards as Draco jumped at him, and then Fang jumped _him_. The three canines went down in an undignified heap, with Remus on the bottom trying to fend off the Slytherin's uncoordinated attacks, while Draco only tried to reach any part of the stunned Professor that he could, all the while ignoring the massive hound currently trampling him in an effort to defend its master.

It was a sight that Colin Creevey would have willingly died for, had he just been able to get a snapshot first.

Summoning the strength he usually spurned, Remus finally managed to shove the boy off himself and sit up. He also grabbed Fang's collar before the dog could bound after the attacker.

For a blessed moment, there was silence, save for the rain and the harsh breathing of the three. Then Draco regained himself, and sprang yet again, this time landing on his knees in front of the older werewolf and reaching out to grasp his shirt.

"What did you _do_?" he hissed, eyes wide and wild and wolf-white. "This is killing me! It's… it's _winning_! I'm going insane!"

Taken aback, Remus almost recoiled from the image the normally pristine Malfoy presented him with. The boy looked shattered, in every sense of the word. His blond hair fell into his eyes in wet tendrils, droplets of rainwater falling from them in fast succession. The rest of him was soaked as well. He hadn't seemed to have bothered with a cloak, and instead wore common muggle-style clothing; blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, unadorned. His hands shook as he clung desperately to Remus – no, his entire frame shook.

"D-Draco, calm down –"

"_I can't_!" the boy snarled in response, his expression practically feral. "I can't, I can't do _anything_! It's taking over! Every five minutes I want to kill something! I can't stay around my friends in case I _bite_ them, for fuck's sake! _And it's all your fault_!"

Remus didn't need the Slytherin to tell him there was something wrong. Even Malfoy, rebel that he liked to consider himself, was not normally one to physically attack a teacher in his own home. And he definitely would not be seen in public looking half out of his mind if everything was normal.

Shaking himself sharply, Remus shifted into a kneeling position, reaching up to take hold of the boy's wrists and firmly remove the grip which held onto his shirt. It was time to be the adult, he reminded himself strictly. You caused this, deal with it. Stop avoiding him.

"Draco? Explain to me exactly what's happening –"

The Slytherin struggled for a moment, but the older werewolf didn't release his wrists. Remus half feared it would only result in another attack if he let go.

"It's stronger than me!" the blond finally hissed resentfully. "I thought… I thought it could only change me with the full moon! _How is this happening_?"

Remus regarded him steadily, trying to hold the panicked gaze with his own and calm it. "You've been ignoring it, haven't you?"

"What?"

He sighed. "Draco… You have to stop thinking of yourself as the same as before –"

"I _am_ the same –!"

"No." Sadly, the older man shook his head. "I'm _sorry_, Draco. Merlin, I'm so sorry… But you're not. You're not a normal wizard anymore. You're not a pureblood. You're not even… even human –"

"Shut up!" Viciously, the blond twisted away from him, landing on his backside in the effort to distance himself from the other werewolf.

But Remus went on. "It doesn't mean you're _less _than what you were, just different. My point is that you have to _accept _that."

"Why should I? Why the _fuck _–"

"Because this will keep happening!"

They stared at each other in silence, Remus trying to communicate the importance of what he was saying, as well as forcing himself not to look away in his own guilt, while Draco shook his head faintly, denying, denying.

"I… I can help, i-if you'll let me," Remus offered hesitantly, after a while. It occurred to him, finally, that maybe this was why Dumbledore was keeping him around, blast the knowing old man.

Draco sneered at him. "Haven't you done enough?" He raised a knee to his chest defensively, wrapping an arm around the denim-clad limb. A shaking hand went first to his mouth, then ran through his hair, before grasping his jeans tightly, obviously not sure what to do.

"Nevertheless," Remus braced himself to continue. "I understand the curse better than you do. I know how to… work with it. If only so you don't give yourself away, you should listen to –"

"Oh god." The blond looked at him with wide eyes. "I hadn't thought of that. They'll start to notice soon. Oh my god, they'll _realise_ –"

"Ssh, no they won't. Calm down. Listen, we can fix this –"

"We can't fucking fix _ANYTHING_!" The blonde's outburst took him by surprise, as well as causing Fang to tense up again. Remus blinked, and watched in astonishment as Draco broke.

The wolf's presence left him for the moment, and the white-blue eyes rapidly darkened to grey, becoming liquid with tears. Ducking his head, he hid the moment of vulnerability with his forearm across his eyes, and drew both knees further to himself, as if trying to avoid Remus's shocked scrutiny.

Curled on the ancient threadbare mat which covered Professor Lupin's floor, Draco Malfoy cried for the first time since he'd been bitten.

xxx

By the time he returned to Hogwarts, having stalked away from the hut thoroughly regretting the whole encounter, it was almost ten o' clock and drawing dangerously close to curfew. His anger still lingered barely below the surface, but overshadowing that was the total humiliation he felt at losing his dignity in such a way.

No, scratch that – he'd gone ahead and _obliterated _his dignity…

There weren't _words _to describe how mortifying this was. He'd – he'd _cried_! On the floor! In front of… _Lupin_! And the git had _comforted _him!

He wanted to cry again just thinking about it.

So when he first heard the distant voices and light laugh he recognised, he welcomed the target that the Dream Team presented. Quickening his pace, wand instinctively at hand, he rounded the corner in time to watch Potter, Mudblood and Weaselby seeing off what looked like half the bloody school. Draco hesitated as he recognised Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all traipsing out of whichever room they'd previously been crammed into. What in hell–

_Then _he recognised it. This was the same place they'd all been last year, when he himself had helped bring their little get-togethers to a premature end.

Plastering a sneer on, he stepped forward as the mass of other students disappeared, leaving only the Golden Trio. He was itching to take out his anger on something, and even the thought of Granger slapping him again wasn't enough of a dissuasion.

"Dumbledore's Army back to its former glory, then, is it?" he called out snidely.

The three whipped round in surprise, pinning him with glares as they recognised the voice. That lasted all of three seconds – before their expressions slowly changed to surprise.

The Weasel let out a snort of amusement. "Shit, Malfoy, what happened to you?"

Draco blinked, not receiving the reaction he'd anticipated.

"Have you been _outside_?" Granger demanded, her voice high-pitched with indignation and grating severely on Draco's nerves.

The Slytherin cast a glance down at himself then and very nearly winced. He'd actually forgotten his less than pristine appearance – a first, surely, and something that only testified toward his distress. Merlin, of all the times to be slumming in bloody muggle clothing… _Wet _muggle clothing, at that.

"It's none of your business where I've been, Granger," he spat, glaring at her. "Though I'd love to know what the _rebel forces _think they're up to, this time of night."

Potter raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Yeah, out of the lot of us, it's _us _who're the most suspicious here. What the hell were you just doing outside of the castle?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, but I think I just said it was none of your business!"

The redhead took a step forward, his wand already hanging at his side. "It's our business if you're scheming something, about to let hordes of Death Eaters and monsters into Hogwarts –"

"For gods' sakes Weasley!" the blond exclaimed, throwing up his hands in disgust and exasperation. "What are you – five? _Monsters_? The only monster out there is your precious moonlit-mutt!" Resolutely, he kept his eyes away from Potter, staring down the other two instead.

The Mudblood jumped to the defence first. "Professor Lupin is _not _a monster, Malfoy! He's as human as you and I!"

Weasel scowled. "C'mon, Hermione. There's no use trying to explain to this ferrety little git –"

Draco cut him off, his focus narrowing to the girl. He forced a disdainful expression. "Human? He's not even a real wizard. Not a pureblood. He's a _creature_! What good could he possibly be?"

Granger looked quite ready to smack him one, but he'd been careful to keep some distance between them this time.

"You foul, loathsome little beast!" she shrieked, losing all decorum. "Remus Lupin makes a better human being then you ever will, and ten times the wizard! How _dare _you –!"

Boy Wonder chose that moment to step in, wrapping an arm around the witch and giving a pointed glance to the redhead. Weasel glowered threateningly at Draco, before taking Harry's place.

"Come on, Hermione, let's go back to the common room."

She jerked away from him before spinning on her heel and storming off down the corridor. A pathetically concerned look on his stupid face, Weasel hurried after her. Leaving Potter.

The green eyes regarded him levelly, not saying anything.

Draco scowled, wanting anger, wanting a target, wanting anything other than this creepy silence.

"What are you staring at?" he spat venomously, when the unblinking look got too much.

Potter folded his arms and tilted his head to the side, looking annoyingly unconcerned. "Malfoy, if you wanted reassurance, there are subtler ways to go about getting it."

Draco almost choked. "Excuse me?"

The taller boy gave a slight shrug. "Well, there are. Hermione'll be upset about this for a week, now. You know, you should really –"

"_Reassurance_?" the blond repeated, as if that was the only bit of Potter's speech he'd taken in.

"Well, I'm assuming that's why you wanted her to say those things about him. Did you get what you were looking for?"

The Slytherin snarled as he pushed past the other, heading in the same direction the two Gryffindors had just taken. Potter, never to be perturbed, followed.

"Get the fuck away from me, Potter!" he ordered, speeding up.

"What? Am I hitting a little too close to home?" His rival easily kept pace, to Draco's irritation. "That's where you were, isn't it? At Remus's."

"Go away."

"Did he give you The Talk for little werewolves? Are you –"

Draco didn't realise he'd moved until his fist collided with the other's mouth. Potter stumbled slightly, a hand raising to touch the dab of blood which had appeared on his lip. Slowly, he raised his eyes to stare at the Slytherin, something suspiciously like glee in the green depths.

"That was pathetic, Malfoy," he happily informed the blond, wiping away the smudge of red. "Guess you're all human this time, huh?"

Draco blinked, not quite understanding at first. He stared in perplexity at the Gryffindor, before slow realisation crept in.

He was still acting human. Furious, yes, but nothing had changed. No animalistic need to bite, no preternatural strength, no–

Potter was abruptly levelling a wand at him. "You don't think I'm just gonna stand here and let you hit me, do you?"

For the first time in too long, Draco felt a thrill go through him at something so familiar, so steady! This – Merlin, _this _would never change, this enmity, no matter what either of them became. This was a constant, a reliable factor – and in the middle of chaos, it was exactly what he needed, though he refused to acknowledge that Potter was doing him a favour, starting the fight he'd craved.

It was McGonagall who caught them minutes later, in the midst of their impromptu duel, jinxes and hexes flying haphazardly. She caught them by the collars and physically hauled them along the corridor, taking an obscene amount of House points from both of them.

Didn't matter. As they stood in her office, with the Scotswoman yelling herself hoarse about curfew and rivalry and maturity, he dared a glance in Potter's direction, and Draco thought he caught a glimpse of his own satisfaction reflected in green eyes.


	10. The Price

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 10**: The Price

xxx

"Are you sure you don't want to get Madam Pomfrey to heal that, Harry?" Hermione's concerned voice rang out across the breakfast table.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's barely a cut, Herm. Malfoy couldn't do proper damage if he tried."

Beside him, Ron snorted. "Yeah, and you know Pomfrey. She won't heal anything but broken bones if you get it in a fight."

The girl shook her head, gathering her bag and latest copy of the Prophet as she stood. "It was still irresponsible. Honestly, duelling that prat in the middle of the corridors… And the amount of House points you lost!" Completely contrasting with her disapproving words, a smile lingered on her lips, and as she passed, she bent and dropped a light kiss into the messy black hair. "Thank you."

Harry grinned. "You're welcome. Where you going anyway?"

She paused to look back at the boys. "I'm off to organise the DA meeting for tonight. I left the Galleon in my room this morning."

Ron, who had been scowling at Hermione's display of affection toward his best friend, suddenly brightened. "Oh, is that tonight? What are we doing this time?"

Harry bit into his toast thoughtfully as Hermione exited the Hall. "I was thinking of covering duelling again. We haven't done that since last year, and we didn't really practice properly back then…"

Ron smirked. "Merlin, you actually sound like a proper teacher."

Harry cast him such an alarmed look that the redhead burst out laughing, earning him a glare and the promise that he was to be paired up with Luna when they duelled.

xxx

Albus Dumbledore watched his students from his place at the head of the staff table, thinking. Before his eyes, Harry laughed alongside his friends, talking animatedly about whatever it was teenage boys talked about – Quiddich, girls, secret meetings in the Room of Requirement…

The Headmaster smiled to himself at that thought, amused that the boy believed himself to be subtle. Not that it mattered, of course. Most of the teachers, at some point now, had overheard mentions of the new DA, and had purposely turned a deaf ear. Harry seemed truly happy for the first time in months, and if this was the cause of such a change, who were they to put a stop to it?

Albus cast a fond glance down the table at his Professors. Nearby, Minerva and Helen Hooch, the two biggest Quiddich fans at the table, were bickering over who would win the national championships this year. Sibyll was trying to convince poor Filius that she had foreseen his death – and it was a gruesome one indeed – while the charms teacher attempted in vain to change the subject. Further along, Remus Lupin picked half-heartedly at his cornflakes. Severus was conspicuously missing, absent on another stay with his Lord.

At that moment, another group of students made their way into the Hall. Albus looked toward them, and his eyes sparked with interest.

Yes, Draco Malfoy had certainly gained his interest of late. To the eye, the blond was no different than he'd ever been – still as obnoxious as ever, still proud, conceited, disdainful. Still the perfect candidate for Slytherin prince. If Albus hadn't received two separate reports from Remus and Minerva that the boy had been a wreck only last night, he would have assumed that Mr Malfoy was coping perfectly well on his own.

But that wasn't true, no matter how he tried to hide his distress in public.

The Headmaster watched as the Slytherin led a group of his Housemates towards their table, trading customary glares and snide comments with Harry as they passed.

And that was another thing. How was their newest recruit – Albus had to laugh at the thought of the reaction he'd receive if he ever called Mr Malfoy any kind of 'recruit' to his face – but to return to the point, how was their newest recruit supposed to work effectively with them if he hated their figurehead?

Albus had kept his word, and was even now keeping Lucius at bay as the man tried furiously to get at his disobedient son. Draco knew nothing of the proceedings, of course, only that the stream of letters he'd been receiving had stopped at least a week ago – when Albus had begun intercepting them. He didn't trust Lucius not to place a portkey or something equally devious inside. He'd also completed the arrangements for the boy to remain at Hogwarts even during compulsory holidays.

But in return for his efforts, he didn't intend for Mr Malfoy to sit back and remain on their side in name alone, so to speak. He would put whatever talents he had to use in the coming war, just like everybody else.

For the moment, however, Albus would be content if the Slytherin was even on talking terms with the students who were doing their best to prepare for what was coming. Besides, if only for his own sake, it would be good for Mr Malfoy to be exposed to the influences of the other Houses, not just his own.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Severus hissed in the back of his head that perhaps he had become a little biased towards Slytherin House, but he pushed it away forcefully.

Mind made up, the Headmaster nodded to himself, already forming his newest spur-of-the-moment notion into a plan.

xxx

It was becoming less of a surprise for Harry to be summoned to the Headmaster's office these days. What worried him was that it was also becoming less of a surprise to find Malfoy there as well.

The blond turned to give him a scornful look when he entered five minutes late, as usual. Harry stiffened defensively, but Dumbledore simply waved him inside, indicating towards the empty chair beside the Slytherin.

"Harry, my boy, sit down why don't you?"

The Gryffindor lowered himself into the waiting seat hesitantly, looking uncomfortable. It usually made him nervous enough to be here, but with Malfoy perched haughtily by his side, it was ten times worse.

"Is there a reason we're here, Headmaster?" the blond asked disrespectfully, folding his arms.

The old man peered at the boy over his glasses sternly, before encompassing them both in his gaze. "Yes, Mr Malfoy, there is a reason. Two, in fact. Firstly, I wanted to take this opportunity to inform Harry that you have indeed chosen to take our side in the coming battle –"

"Sir –!" Malfoy sat forward in protest, gripping the armrests tightly.

Harry was staring at the other teen in astonishment, not quite sure how to react.

Dumbledore went on regardless. "No shame in it, Mr Malfoy, I assure you. And I especially think Harry has a right to know, considering he'll be helping me introduce you to the side of the Light –"

It was Harry's turn to object, also sitting forward. "Sir, I'm not sure –"

"Nonsense, nonsense. I'm not expecting the two of you to become… brothers in arms right away, of course. I would, however, like to ask a favour of you, Harry."

The Gryffindor swiftly wiped away the expression of thorough disgust which had come upon him at the thought of he and Malfoy ever being 'brothers in arms'. He shook himself to clear his head of the image before responding. "Uhm… favour, Professor?"

The old man smiled. "Yes. Actually, it concerns your Defence group. The… ah, DA, I believe it's known as."

Harry blinked. "You know about that?" he asked in surprise.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter, because you're just the epitome of discretion."

The Gryffindor bit back the urge to tell the other where to go. At least while they were in front of the Headmaster.

Dumbledore raised an amused eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you can help with that in the future, Mr Malfoy."

The Slytherin glanced at him sharply. "Me? Why would I have anything to do with it?"

"Because, my boy, I want you to become a member."

Simultaneous protests burst forth as both the Slytherin and Gryffindor suddenly sat upright, shaking their heads and speaking over each other in an attempt to have their dislike for the idea heard.

"Professor, I really don't think that's such a good idea –"

"You _cannot _be serious –"

"I mean, I'm sure he's not even interested –"

"Of all the _stupid_ –"

"And anyway, Malfoy's not exactly popular, is he?"

"Honestly, I– Shut the hell up, Potter! I'll have you know –"

"Boys!" The Headmaster held up a silencing hand, regarding them severely over his spectacles. "This… this _rivalry_ is the reason I'm making this request of the two of you! Mr Malfoy, in return for my protection, you agreed to obey the few demands I would make of you. This is one of them. And Harry… I am asking, respectfully, that you hear me out –"

"But Professor!" Harry was aware of the whining tone his voice had taken on, but couldn't seem to do anything about it. He looked once at Malfoy, who was looking just as horrified.

"Enough of this!" For the first time, Dumbledore actually sounded irritated. He regained himself in seconds, though, and calmly steepled his fingers in front of him. "If Mr Malfoy is ever to learn to work _with _us, and not _against _us, he will need the experience of team-work. And has it occurred to either of you that he will also need someone exactly like yourself, Harry, who knows who and, more importantly, what he is?"

The blond scowled. "What does that have to do with anything? You're asking me to become part of Potter's bloody fan-club! And why should I waste my time listening to him, when there's a perfectly good Defence teacher this year?"

Harry snorted sceptically, but was largely ignored.

"Because I said so, Mr Malfoy," was the only answer they received, as Dumbledore's eyes regained their twinkle. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to be getting on with."

Sullenly, the pair stood, glaring furiously at each other as if it was their fault.

"Oh, and Harry?" Dumbledore spoke up, as they reached the door. "I expect Mr Malfoy to be invited to that meeting Miss Granger is organising for tonight."

The Gryffindor scowled, but nodded.

xxx

"Well, Potter? Aren't you going to extend a formal invitation?" Draco drawled as they descended the spiral staircase outside the office together.

Harry snorted. "No. You heard him. It's tonight. Show up or don't – it's not my problem."

The blond sneered. "Yes, well, I _know _it's tonight – what _time_, you idiot?"

The Gryffindor hesitated in snapping his retort. Finally he sighed in exasperation. "Oh, dammit. I'm going to have to get you a Galleon. _And _you're going to have to sign the list…"

Draco looked at him incredulously. "Money, Potter? You're paying me? And what list?"

"I'm not _paying _you, it's how everyone knows when the meetings are. Hermione can explain it. And the list is the contract that keeps you from telling anyone else."

The blond rolled his eyes. "Well, damn. And I was so looking forward to sharing my new humiliation with the rest of Slytherin…"

They stalked along the corridor in silence for a few moments, both seething.

"Why the hell are you even doing this, anyway? I know you can't want to be a part of the DA."

The blond narrowed his eyes resentfully. "Obviously," he muttered. "But didn't you hear him back there, Potter? I said… I swore I'd do what he ordered."

He could feel those infuriating green eyes burning into the side of his head as Potter stared at him, and he pointedly refused to acknowledge the look.

"So… he was serious, then? About you joining this side of the war?"

Draco snorted. "Well, actually, it was this delightful little joke we cooked up –"

"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy. Do you have to be sarcastic about _everything_?"

The Slytherin whipped around so fast that Potter actually stumbled, his hand fumbling clumsily towards his wand. Draco's glare was piercing, eyes pinned wide with fury. "Well, I find it helps, rather that admit your saintly Headmaster bargained me into practical slavery!"

The Gryffindor blinked cluelessly at him for a moment before regaining himself. "It's not slavery, Malfoy. I'm sure he just needs to be able to trust you –"

"Oh, of course. Because the threat of what _Daddy _would do to me if I switched sides again just wasn't enough!" came the sardonic retort. "No, I needed to have it knocked home that Albus Dumbledore is all-powerful and I'm barely good enough to carry out his whims!"

Potter was staring at him like he'd lost his mind – which, admittedly, was a distinct possibility by this point. "Malfoy, I think you're blowing things a little out of proportion –"

"I don't _care _if I'm blowing things out of proportion!" he was suddenly yelling, losing any last trace of dignity. "That's what it feels like!"

The empty hallway rang with silence as his shouts faded. They had stopped walking without realising, and now stood facing each other, hands hovering in the vicinity of their wands.

Draco felt colour flood his cheeks in embarrassment as he realised how far he'd let himself go. God, what was he? A bloody child, to throw a tantrum without a moment's notice? Closing his eyes for a second, he snapped his restraints back into place, standing straighter and removing any trace of expression from his face. "Well, Potter? As much as I love wasting my time in your company, I have things to do. Am I a member of your little club or not?"

The Gryffindor looked puzzled at the sudden change in persona. He hesitated before answering, obviously wondering what had just happened. Finally, he gathered himself enough to stammer out, "Uhm, I guess you can sign later, and Hermione'll have to make another coin… Look, I know where your room is, I can just come get you whenever the meeting is… If that's any easier."

Draco sighed, looking very nonplussed. "Brilliant," he drawled.


	11. Settling The Score

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 11**: Settling The Score

xxx

"He _WHAT_?"

"Sshh!"

Ron stared at his friend, bug-eyed, and tried desperately to come up with something else to say. No words were forthcoming, however. Thunderstruck, he could only shake his head in disbelief.

The three were sat in their customary place by the fire, gathered close as Harry tried to keep the discussion quiet. So far, he wasn't having much luck. Ron's astonished outburst had attracted the attention of half the room.

"Look," Harry whispered, "I'm telling you guys first so you'll know why he's there. I don't want Gryffindor common room up in arms about it! So shut up, alright?"

The redhead blinked, then shook his head again. "But Harry! You're not gonna actually let him join, are you? I mean… it's _Malfoy_!" Thankfully, he'd successfully lowered his voice this time.

Harry shrugged. "There's not much I can do. Dumbledore's orders, isn't it." He shrugged, staring at the flames for a long moment as his friends absorbed what he was telling them.

"There's got to be _something _you can –" Ron tried to protest again.

"There's not."

Hermione, who had been silent in shock up until now, suddenly perked up. "But Harry, it's not as if Malfoy will _want _to join. Maybe he won't even show up."

He sighed and looked at her, realising he'd neglected to tell them the second half of the story.

The long explanation took him some time, with Ron's continuous interruptions and indignant outbursts, as well as Hermione's calmly posed questions he did his best to answer. He relayed what had happened up in the Headmaster's office, as well as the following conversation he'd had with Malfoy. As he spoke, Ron's expression turned from sullen to almost gleeful, while Hermione only looked more troubled.

"You mean Dumbledore's finally got control of the little git?" the redhead asked happily when Harry was done. "I always said that man was a genius!"

Hermione scowled. "You've called him crazy enough times, as well, Ronald. And anyway, I can't believe the Headmaster would _do_ that!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and let out a slow breath, still staring thoughtfully into the fire. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Seemed fine at first, but the way Malfoy put it… Made me feel a bit guilty, to be honest."

Ron, once again, looked thunderstruck. "You two aren't serious, are you?"

The witch didn't seem to be paying any attention to him as she went on. "It's unethical! I could understand if he'd made Malfoy swear loyalty and just that! But making it so he _had _to obey? Dumbledore could make him do anything!"

Harry frowned uneasily. "Yeah, but he wouldn't. I mean… he's _Dumbledore_."

"Even so!" She was using the high-pitched voice of indignation they'd only heard her use when discussing S.P.E.W. "It's the principle. It's… it's _slavery_!"

"That's what Malfoy said."

They cast troubled looks at each other, unnerved.

Ron scoffed loudly, distracting them. "You're both exaggerating this. Think about it. How else was he supposed to make sure that prick didn't go running to You-Know-Who the first chance he got?"

Harry remembered the Slytherin's scornful, sarcastic words from earlier. _Because the threat of what _Daddy_ would do to me if I switched sides again just wasn't enough! _He wondered, guiltily, if Dumbledore's measures really had been necessary.

"Anyway," the redhead went on, his tone becoming moody once again, "the only thing he's forcing Malfoy to do is torment _us_ some more."

That brought them back to the topic at hand.

Hermione sighed. "Well, I can make another Galleon, and I'll bring the list – but are you _sure_, Harry?"

The boy glanced at her wryly. "No. But like I said, not much I can do, is there?"

xxx

"And _who _are _you_?"

Harry blinked at the sultry tone coming from a portrait. He stared up at the dark haired woman in perplexity, wondering if there was a correct response he could possibly give.

"I _asked _you a question, darling," Lilith purred, making him start.

"Oh, uhm, Harry. Harry Potter."

She smiled, her blood red lips curving up at the corners. "Is that so? And what, may I ask, is such a handsome boy doing around here?"

Harry blushed. "Actually, I came for Malfoy. I don't suppose you could let him know?"

She arched a thin black eyebrow. "What, the blond? Such an obnoxious boy, that one. He never speaks to me – not like you, my dear. Why don't you stay and talk with me, instead?"

"Uhm…" Really, what other reaction was there?

As if in answer to his silent prayer, the large gilded frame suddenly swung forwards, revealing the blond in question standing in the doorway.

"Potter, were you _flirting _with my portrait?" was the incredulous greeting.

Again, Harry felt his face heat up with embarrassment. "No! She was… she was flirting with me. I think."

Malfoy gave him a deadpan stare before reluctantly stepping out to join him. The painting swung closed behind him, and he turned slightly amused grey eyes on the sorceress. "Nympho," he accused, smirking. She huffed indignantly and disappeared from the frame, stalking off into another somewhere along the corridor.

"Ready to get this over with?" the Gryffindor muttered as they began walking towards the staircase.

"You sound _so_ enthusiastic. What makes you think my presence at your little amateur group isn't going to be an all-around success?" the blond commented innocently.

Harry snorted, almost amused. "Yeah. Right."

xxx

Their reception was everything Harry had imagined it would be. He entered the Room first, and was met with absent smiles from most of the DA, which abruptly froze over at the sight of the person following him.

Within seconds, a riot of protests had erupted as the room's occupants surged forwards, some of them already pointing wands at the Slytherin in their midst. Only Ron and Hermione looked unaffected by the abrupt arrival, though Ron was scowling darkly and Hermione looked worried. Near them, Neville had gone pale with fright and Ginny was red with indignation.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry thought he actually saw Malfoy take half a step back when confronted with such open hostility. Taking pity on him, the Gryffindor firmly placed himself between the dozens of aimed wands and their target.

Finally, blessed silence fell across the room as the DA stared at their leader in confusion. Harry blinked, realising why even Malfoy would be intimidated by the sight of thirty or so people bearing down on him, hexes already on their lips.

Raising his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture, he waited expectantly until the wands were slowly lowered. That was when the questions began.

"What is _he _doing here -?"

"Harry, have you lost your mind -?"

"Did he _Imperio _you into this -?"

"Will you _move _so we can hex him -?"

This would be the cause of a migraine and another bout of isolation, Harry could tell. Exasperated, he beckoned for Hermione to come join him. She obeyed, fighting her way through the crowd gathered tightly around Harry and Malfoy, carrying with her a familiar looking roll of parchment.

"Okay," he spoke up, fighting to be heard over the disbelieving voices of his peers. "Needless to say, we, uhm, have a new member –"

"_What_? You can't let _him _join!" Lavender Brown practically shrieked, and was soon joined by the entire congregation once again.

Gritting his teeth, Harry lost patience. Touching his wand to his throat, he muttered, "_Sonarus_." Then, bracing himself, he shouted, "_**ENOUGH**_!"

The noise was terrible. Those nearest him swayed faintly and clamped their hands to their ears. He saw Hermione wince in pain, and gave her an apologetic glance, before cancelling the spell.

Voice returned to normal volume, he continued. "First off – I have _not _lost my mind, I've not been _Imperioed_, and no, I won't let you hex him. Well… not while we're in here, anyway. Malfoy's here because Dumbledore ordered it, and he's prepared to sign the same way everybody else did." He paused, glancing around at all of them. He wasn't sure if a simple explanation would work, especially since he himself didn't feel any conviction on the matter.

When no one tried to tackle him out of the way in order to get to the blond, he felt daring enough to go on. "After he signs, it'll not only mean he won't be able to tell anyone else of what goes on here – none of you will be able to spread his presence here around the school. If anyone tries, Hermione's curse will activate. Is that clear?"

Outrage met his speech and he was forced to spend, in total, twenty minutes convincing a room full of people that, yes, he was still, in fact, in full possession of his sanity, and would not allow Malfoy to curse them all, and _yes _he had heard Dumbledore with his own ears, and yes, he had tried to protest, but no, it hadn't done any good, and finally no, Luna, he somehow doubted that Wrackspurts were the cause of his misguided judgement in allowing a Slytherin here.

Exhausted by the end of it, he was glad when Hermione took over, unrolling the parchment that served as their makeshift contract and handing it, along with a quill, over to Malfoy.

The blond took it disdainfully, but glanced up hesitantly at Harry. "You said this would stop it getting out I'm here?"

Hermione answered him. "Yes, but to be honest, it's mostly for _our _sake, Malfoy. Especially considering you spent most of last year trying to catch us out."

The Slytherin looked down his nose at her. "That was then, Granger. Now, as I'm sure you've gathered, I'm stuck as _one _of you."

Harry sighed, seeing an argument already. "Just sign the damn thing, Malfoy, and we can get on with things."

With ill grace, the blond huffed and scribbled down his signature, before thrusting the parchment back at Hermione. She glared at him, but proceeded to rummage in her pocket and pulled out the Galleon she'd made for him that morning. "Here," she snapped, shoving it at him with the same distaste he showed her.

"And what, exactly, is this supposed to do?" he drawled, spinning the coin experimentally between long fingers.

"I'll explain later," Harry muttered tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Then, regaining himself, he addressed the rest of the room in a louder voice. "Right, uhm, I'd wanted to cover duelling again, if that's okay."

He was met with a less enthusiastic response than usual, as most of the DA was still staring distrustfully at Malfoy. He ignored that and ushered the group toward the centre of the room.

"Find a partner," he instructed, soon falling into the teaching role he'd first taken up last year. "Before we do anything, I'll go over what we've already covered."

Harry watched as everyone around him scrambled to find a partner. He'd already resigned himself to partnering with Malfoy, knowing that no one else would willingly choose to work with the Slytherin, and he couldn't really force someone else into the unfortunate role, much as he'd like to.

When that was done, there was a rather large clearing around himself and the blond, leaving room for a few demonstrations, he realised.

Harry cleared his throat, oddly nervous with Malfoy's unimpressed stare boring into him. Trying to ignore the Slytherin, he addressed the gathered students. "Right, well. To pick up where we left off… If it's a serious duel, you're better off trying to incapacitate your opponent straight away, before they do any real damage." Without warning, he turned from his audience and aimed his wand at his nonplussed partner. "_Stupefy_!"

The blond neutralised the spell lazily with a quick _Protego_, looking bored.

"Obviously, that's not always going to work," Harry went on, sounding unsurprised. "There are other options – _Expelliamus _can disarm your opponent, if you're quick enough, and a Body-Bind curse is another way to –"

"Is this your method of _duelling_, Potter?"

Malfoy's voice rang out obnoxiously, drawing all attention to him. Harry blinked, looking at him in surprise. "What's wrong with my way of duelling?" he asked, genuinely curious, if a little defensive.

The Slytherin scowled. "It's actually quite pathetic if they're the spells you're recommending." Loud murmurs started up from the other students then, ready to defend their informal teacher, especially in the anxious mood they were currently in. "Not being very realistic, are we Potter?"

The Gryffindor folded his arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said! You don't think you're going to be able to win a war with _Expelliamus _and Body-Binds do you? God, _I've_ had better hexes cast at me, and I'm not a Death Eater wanting to kill you!"

From the sidelines, Ron's, "Wouldn't be too sure of that," was clearly audible, and judging from the hisses that followed, generally agreed with.

Harry smirked, ignoring the others in the room. "Yeah, well, I don't think it'd be too effective if we tried to turn Voldemort into a ferret."

For a moment, Malfoy looked quite surprised, the wind taken out of his sails. Chuckles rose from the spectators. He blinked once, before his expression turned miffed. "Whatever, Potter. But to return to the point, why don't you show everyone what a _real _Wizard's Duel looks like?"

The Gryffindor raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What? With _you_?" He was abruptly aware of the tense but excited silence which had settled over the room as the other members of the DA awaited his response.

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, we _do _have a score to settle. Never got to finish that first duel back in second year, did we?" He was smiling, eyes alight with some emotion not to be trusted.

Harry glanced about surreptitiously, surprised to note that most of his 'class' looked quite eager for him to agree. Especially Ron – but then, he was probably just hoping to see someone kick the crap out of Malfoy.

Sighing at a decision he was sure he was going to regret later, Harry relented. "Fine," he murmured quietly, causing another ripple of whispers to go through the room and the blonde's expression to take on a look of triumph.

Ron stood up. "I'll be your second, Harry –"

"No." Harry spoke before he thought, and watched as the redhead looked hurt. Quickly, he amended, "No, I want you all to pretend this hasn't been arranged. It's out in the real world, with no seconds, no guarantees, no rules. Okay?"

Malfoy was staring at him intently, looking a little bit more impressed now. He swiftly ruined that, though, by drawling, "If you're quite done with your lecture, _Professor_…"

Sighing, Harry turned back to him tiredly. Malfoy was quickly proving to be the hostile, unhelpful presence he'd predicted. Not only that, he was already altering Harry's lesson to his own designs.

"On three," he instructed. "One, two –"

"_Furnunculus_!" Malfoy snapped out with a wicked grin, followed by his gleeful, "You never learn, Potter!"

Harry ducked the spell, avoiding it only thanks to Seeker reflexes. Straightening, he glared at his opponent, recalling the dirty tricks used last time they'd duelled formally. Really, he should have known.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" he retorted, flicking his wand. Once again, the blond stopped the spell with a casual shield charm and responded with a hex of his own that was considerably less merciful that Harry's.

That was to be their pattern, it seemed. Harry, falling back on defensive and passive spells meant to immobilise, while Malfoy seemed determined to break him of the habit. The Slytherin cast viciously, as if trying to provoke Harry into responding with something more serious than a Confundus charm.

In truth, the Gryffindor wasn't really sure why he was holding back. He'd had more intense duels with Malfoy in the corridors, brought on by nothing more than a casual slight, and he definitely hadn't responded with _Expelliamus _during those particular incidents. He thought, vaguely, that it had something to do with the gathered audience he was currently supposed to be teaching.

Ever his opposite, Harry would have said Malfoy had gone to the other extreme, showing more skill now than he ever did during a spat outside Potions. In fact, Harry had to wonder where he'd learned half the stuff he knew. None of it, he was sure, was on the curriculum. Half of his spells also danced along the border of being Dark, as well, much to the Gryffindor's annoyance.

But then, he reconsidered, they _were _supposed to be portraying a real battle, and any spells a Death Eater used would be a lot Darker than Malfoy's Blasting curse.

Suddenly, Malfoy snapped out something harshly and from nowhere, thin, tight ropes appeared to encircle Harry. Unable to react fast enough, the Gryffindor could only struggle against the restraints. He saw Ron step forward out of the corner of his eyes, but Hermione stopped him from interfering.

This was the same spell he'd once seen Snape use to bind Lupin in the Shrieking Shack – and all of a sudden, Harry realised who Malfoy must have learned his new skills from. But that was a faint thought in the back of his head, being too distracted by the sight of the Slytherin stalking towards him, grin in place.

Malfoy came to a stop only when he was inches from Harry, smugness simply radiating from him. "Does this mean I win?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry snorted. "I thought you said incapacitating an opponent wasn't very _realistic_."

The blond seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. "I suppose you're right, at that." Smiling, he raised his wand, pausing only to lean closer and hiss spitefully, "Scared, Potter?"

Harry stared him in the eye, all the while twisting his wrist at an awkward angle, where it was just free of the bindings. "You wish," he retorted, finally positioning his wand. "_Relashio_!"

The jet of red and gold sparks erupted from nowhere, catching the Slytherin in the face. He swore loudly and threw himself backwards, raising a hand to cover his eyes.

Aiming his wand at himself this time, Harry took advantage of Malfoy's carelessness to mutter a quick, _"Diffindo_," and the ropes were slit open, tumbling uselessly around him.

Draco fell back warily, fighting not to rub at his stinging eyes. Potter stood staring at him with a slight smirk, and the crowd was more fascinated than ever, cheering their precious Saviour.

"That was a Slytherin trick, Potter," Draco called out, wiping away the smirk.

"Don't insult me."

The blond shrugged, making an effort to appear nonchalant. "What? I thought that was quite the compliment." Then, dropping his calm persona abruptly, he let out a vicious, "_Serpensortia_!" On the floor between them, the long black form of a snake materialised in a puff of smoke.

Potter snorted. "Talk about not learning anything, Malfoy. You tried this last time –"

But Draco wasn't done. If Potter thought he could outdo _him _in Slytherin tricks, he was sorely, sorely mistaken. Whirling around, he pointed his wand with deadly accuracy at the shocked face of Weasley. "_Oppugno_!"

Compelled by the command to attack, the snake reared and followed his directions, lunging toward the redhead with bared fangs. Students were screaming within seconds, scrambling to get away, and Potter was hissing in that eerie way of his – and it felt very much like second year all over again. Draco smirked.

The snake was already ceasing its attack, though, turning to regard the Parseltongue in their midst. Didn't matter, he hadn't really expected anything different.

Instead, he took the opportunity of Potter's distraction to level his wand at the Gryffindor and murmur, quietly, _"Sectumsempra_."

And then there was _real _chaos, as the only hope for the wizarding world went down in a spray of blood.


	12. Accidents Happen

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 12**: Accidents Happen

xxx

Hermione's scream rose up inside her, trapped, unheard by anyone but herself as she watched, entranced, as Harry was struck by Malfoy's curse. He went down without a sound, bleeding. God, so much blood!

And then Ron was gabbing her about the waist, pulling her roughly backwards. She tripped and fell against him. Where she had been standing only seconds before, the black snake of Malfoy's was coiled, hissing and spitting. No longer charmed by Harry's Parseltongue, it returned to its original task of attacking Ron.

Again it reared back, fangs glistening, prepared to lunge. She drew her wand, mind rapidly going through a list of spells that might work on a conjured creature.

But before she could do anything, the thing disappeared in another puff of smoke. She looked up, to find Malfoy pointing at it, his wand shaking in unsteady hands. He looked shocked and faintly ill, but she had no time for him.

Darting forward, she threw herself down next to Harry's prone figure. She slid slightly in the pools of sticky crimson that were forming on the tiled floor. Refusing to acknowledge the clawing panic growing inside of her, she lay her hands on her friend's chest, trying to find the source of the bleeding. The robes and T-shirt he was wearing were ripped, she saw, and parted the shredded articles of clothing.

A gasp escaped her just as Ron dropped to his knees next to her. Together they stared in horror at the slash across Harry's chest which gushed blood.

_"Episkey_!" she tried desperately, the only healing spell she knew. The gash seemed to tighten slightly, but nowhere near closing.

"We have to get him to Pomfrey," Ron was saying lowly in her ear, already moving to cast a _Levicorpus _spell.

Suddenly, Hermione felt herself shoved gracelessly aside, and a third presence was snapping out, "Move, Granger."

Half blinded by her own panic, she simply had to see the flash of white-blond and her control snapped. "You BASTARD! You stay away from him! _Petrificus Tot–_"

Malfoy's hand shot out and hit her wand, sending it spiralling across the room. "I said _move_, Granger!" The aristocratic, disdainful voice she was used to had vanished, to be replaced by a growl that wasn't recognisable as the Slytherin's trademark drawl.

He was down on his own knees with them then, ignoring the blood that swiftly smeared the tailored robes. Hawthorn wand in hand, he waved it in some intricate gesture, muttering something she couldn't make out over the rushing in her ears, and the raised voices of everyone else in the room.

She didn't know if he finished, only that Ron had suddenly grasped the smaller boy and tossed him backwards with little effort. Malfoy fell awkwardly, his wand clattering away from him, and then Ron was upon him, roaring incoherently, fists flying. She could hear Malfoy yelling something, trying to be heard, but the redheaded boy only seemed interested in destroying him.

But then, taking her by surprise, Ron was suddenly hurtled a good several feet across the room. He skidded to a stop, landing on his backside, looking just as shocked as her that Malfoy had used that kind of strength.

"Look at him, Weasley!" the blond was shouting, gesturing wildly. "Fucking look at him before you kill me!"

She spun away from the fighting pair, throwing herself down to examine Harry again. She lifted his shirt, and though sticky redness still stained every inch of his skin and clothing, she could find no gash.

"Ron!"

He was by her in a second. "What? Is he okay? Is he –"

"He's…" She trailed off, waving her hand helplessly at the lack of an injury. Her eyes turned slowly back towards Malfoy, who had been left panting on the floor, his harsh breathing quickly becoming the only sound in the near silent room.

"It was an accident," he said at last, voice tiny in comparison to the snotty confidence he normally exuded. "I didn't know what it did."

Hermione felt like she was going to explode. A thousand and one insults were springing to her lips, but none of them seemed _good _enough to describe the pure _stupidity_–

Anyway, Ginny Weasley beat her to the punch.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN IS _WRONG _WITH YOU?" she screamed, startling everyone. Malfoy actually paled at the sight of the furious young witch stalking towards him. "WHO CASTS AN UNKNOWN CURSE LIKE THAT IN A PRACTICE DUEL? AND AT _HARRY_! WHO _ALLOWED _YOU TO BE HERE –"

She was cut off by Neville, who hurriedly wrapped a restraining arm around her and all but dragged her backwards, literally kicking and screaming.

All eyes once again settled on the distinctly uncomfortable Slytherin, who was slowly beginning to realise that not only had he nearly killed The Boy Who Refused To Die in full sight of his biggest supporters, he, _Draco Malfoy_, had also just saved his miserable life.

"S-someone," Hermione started, never taking her eyes of the blond, "go get Madam Pomfrey. And the Headmaster."

Draco winced.

Well, this should be interesting, he thought despondently

xxx

The gossip mill did not take long to start churning, at least among the members of the DA. And though they longed to tell everyone they possibly could of what had happened, Hermione's contract kept their silence. To each other, they repeated the same questions over and over again.

What had Harry been thinking, bringing Draco Malfoy here? Why had Malfoy even shown? Merlin knew _he _didn't need Defence lessons, when he was practically sleeping with their current DADA Professor, teacher's pet that he was… And besides, what did a Death Eater in training want with Dumbledore's Army?

And that _spell_! No one among them had seen it or even heard of it before, not even Hermione, who was generally accepted as an Encyclopaedia of wizarding knowledge. Which, it had to be said, begged the question of where _Malfoy _had learnt it.

They were also wondering about the abrupt 180 the Slytherin had done – from trying to kill Harry to saving his life, when no one else seemed able to do anything. And of course, there had been the strange events afterwards – not only had the Headmaster seen for himself the state Harry was in, and been _told _what had happened, he'd also utterly failed to expel Malfoy on the spot.

By the time Harry woke in his hospital bed some hours later, the whole thing had been analysed in detail, though no one, as of yet, had found a sensible explanation.

xxx

Harry stirred slowly, waking as he was jostled and poked in the ribs. Opening his eyes, he could make out the blurry image of Madam Pomfrey hovering over him, her wand waving in sweeping gestures and occasionally jabbing at him experimentally. He winced as the length of wood yet again made sharp contact with his side.

"Oh, you're awake now, are you?" the nurse muttered, glancing at him briefly.

"Hnngh," he responded intelligently. "What happened this time?"

Her eyes flickered up to look at him intently before returning to her examination. "Well, I'm afraid you've got another scar, Mr Potter."

He jerked. "What?" Struggling to sit up, he was handed his glasses, and quickly put them on. Looking down, he found himself shirtless. Crossing his chest, from right shoulder down toward his left hip, was the thin silvery line of a newly formed scar.

"Duelling, Mr Potter," she went on, tutting. "Thoroughly irresponsible of you, I must say…"

He frowned. Duelling? Duelling – the DA – Malfoy – "Malfoy!" he growled suddenly.

She nodded carefully.

"Why – I mean, how am I -?" He gestured to himself, indicating the healed gash down his front.

The nurse's mouth tipped in a smile. "According to all reports, your miraculous recovery is ironically also due to Mr Malfoy."

"That bas– What?" He was becoming incredulous now, scowling in confusion.

She chuckled. "I'll be back in a moment, Mr Potter." And with that she bustled off down the ward, leaving him feeling more than a little perplexed.

Gingerly, he traced a finger along the neat line that dissected him, resting his hand where it crossed his breastbone. What the hell had Malfoy done to him? He remembered duelling, and the snake, and then _pain _and… nothing. What kind of spell did this? Now, at the very least, he knew the Slytherin was perfectly capable of using Dark magic. Too bad he'd had to be on the wrong end of it, though…

Wincing slightly, he levered himself up until he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. He was still clad in jeans, which had been worn under school robes, but his shirt was nowhere to be seen. Disturbingly, he could see dried red stains dying the blue denim brown in places. It was quite unnerving.

Glancing around, he looked fruitlessly for clothes that might have been left out for him. Being half naked in the hospital wing, much as he was used to the place, made him uncomfortable. Distracted by his search, he didn't notice the new presence in the room until a soft, purposeful cough caught his attention.

Turning, he saw the Slytherin student hovering some distance away, hesitating.

"Malfoy! What are you doing here?"

The blond walked slowly forward, his usual swagger somewhat lacking. Harry's eyebrows climbed as he took in the other's appearance.

The expensive, neatly folded robes that normally radiated class were now creased and rumpled, and visible on the green trim were the dark, rather ominous stains of blood. Not only that, there were even traces of the same redness right through the silvery hair, as if Malfoy had run a bloodstained hand through the strands. Under his left eye was the blossoming darkness of a new bruise.

Forgetting his first demand, Harry gaped. "What happened to you?" he asked, staring in morbid fascination. "Is that… is that _mine_?" Helplessly, he indicated the bloody smears covering the Slytherin.

Malfoy flushed, almost sheepishly. "Yes. I haven't had a chance to change. I've been in the Headmaster's office since…"

Curious, Harry studied the prominent black eye. "And that?"

The Slytherin looked back at him wryly. "Apparently Weasley took offence to me saving your life. And Pomfrey isn't healing it as some kind of malicious punishment."

At that, the Gryffindor seemed to recall the situation, and his manner abruptly chilled. "So what do you want, anyway?" he snapped, glaring. "Come for another shot at me?"

Malfoy scowled. "Look, Potter, don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't think… I didn't mean to…" He sighed, frustrated. "I've never used the spell before," he admitted, shrugging. "I didn't know it would do that."

Harry stared at him, incredulous. "So you decided to _test _it on me?"

The blond folded his arms defensively. "Yes, alright. The Weaselette already informed me of my mental defect in that area, thanks…"

"Glad someone did," Harry sniped, feeling justified in his ill-temper.

"It was an accident, alright? I didn't _actually_ mean to killyou –"

"It's not just that, though, is it? Malfoy, you set a _snake _on Ron! Just to distract me! I mean, for Merlin's–!" The Gryffindor broke off sharply, his green eyes growing wide. "Wait. The snake. Oh god, it didn't… I mean, when I blacked out, it didn't…?"

The Slytherin abruptly seemed to realise what was being asked, and shook his head quickly. "No. I vanquished it as soon as it… happened. And I only did it because I knew– I mean, I'd _thought _you'd be able to control it…"

"Don't you have _any _kind of… conscience?"

For the long moments the blond stared at him, looking confused, as if he couldn't quite understand something. "Potter, you're lying in the hospital wing because of a curse I cast without testing – and instead of yelling at me for that, you're lecturing about my lack of duelling morals?"

Harry snorted. "Better people than you have tried and come closer to killing me, Malfoy. I guess I've just gotten used to it," he remarked wryly.

"Oh, yes, there it is," the Slytherin suddenly snapped. "I'd been wondering where your martyr-complex had disappeared to."

The Gryffindor sneered. "Yeah, that's exactly what this is," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," Malfoy said sharply, his expression closing over. "Don't even know why I came here." All huffy indignity, the blond turned on his heel, somehow managing to make blood-crusted robes look haughty as they rippled behind him.

"Malfoy." Harry called out automatically, not really sure why. He waited for the Slytherin to turn and look at him, but almost immediately looked away to the side uncomfortably when grey eyes finally pinned him. "I… Thanks, I guess. For –"

"Don't thank me, Potter," Malfoy snapped, sounding annoyed. "I didn't exactly have a choice. The Headmaster's spell didn't take kindly to me standing by watching you bleed to death." He spoke dryly, but his voice was brittle, as if barely managing to conceal whatever emotion lay beneath.

Harry stared back at him steadily, trying not to wonder what would have happened if Dumbledore's spell hadn't been in place. Shaking the thought from his head, he nodded once. "Guess we're even then," he said, barely audible, but the grey eyes locked with his own flashed.

"Whatever, Potter," was the dismissive response, Malfoy trying for scornful but not quite managing. He looked, in fact, faintly disturbed. Finally, he tore his gaze away and stalked out of the ward, not looking back.

As he reached the door, he almost walked straight into Ron, who was just entering with Hermione. The redhead leered dangerously at the smaller boy, who merely curled a lip, disdainfully sidestepping.

Scowling, his friends made their way toward his bed. They were dressed cleanly, probably having changed clothes, unlike the Slytherin, though they hadn't bothered with school robes. It was nearing curfew, not worth putting on their uniform when they had a decent excuse to avoid doing so.

"What was he doing here?" Ron asked as he dropped onto the bed beside him.

Harry shrugged. "His version of an apology, I think," he answered unsurely. "Pretty sure Dumbledore made him show his face."

"Ferrety little git should have been expelled," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "Everyone who saw it is saying so. He could have killed you, mate."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and I got the scar to prove it." He glanced down again, sighing at the sight of the silvery mark.

Hermione looked at him sympathetically. "Does it hurt?"

"No, not really. It's just kind of annoying. That he got one over on me, I mean."

The witch rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Of all the things to be worried about!" She sighed. "Well, I suppose it could have been much worse. I… I couldn't do anything, you know. You would have… If Malfoy hadn't known what to do…" She trailed off, looking away and blinking rapidly.

Ron broke the abrupt tension by letting out a sceptical, "Hah! Hermione, you're forgetting that it was _him _who caused the whole mess in the first place! If it hadn't been for Malfoy, we'd all be happily up in Gryffindor right now." He looked darkly at Harry. "Although, you're not blameless as well, you know. It was _you _who brought him!"

Harry widened his eyes innocently. "I told you already! Dumbledore made me!"

Hermione held up her hands, stopping them. "Look, let's forget about Malfoy, alright? What's done is done, but… Harry's fine. Leave it at that."

Harry smiled, relieved that she, at least, was prepared to drop the subject.

xxx

Draco just managed to drop himself onto the couch as he entered his rooms, and felt perfectly justified in wanting to sleep for a week. He'd briefly thought about returning to Slytherin – he wanted desperately to talk to Pansy and Blaise, to find some normality with them – but with the mood and the state he was currently in, being around his friends was a bad idea.

For one, they'd _probably_ want to know whose blood he was covered in, and what exactly he'd been doing to end up that way. He was not about to launch into an in-depth explanation of how he'd been forced to attend Potter's Defence club, which had only almost resulted in the untimely death of both of them – Potter, by his own hand, and himself by an enraged Weasley.

No, bad idea all around, facing Pansy and Blaise right now.

He wondered vaguely if he should move, go get showered and ready for bed – but even the thought of shifting himself from his semi-comfortable position made him cringe. So he remained where he was, thoughts drifting tiredly.

He could also sense the wolf, growling edgily at the fringes of his mind, alerted by his anxiousness over the day. He'd have to go see Lupin again soon, loathe as he was to admit it. Better a few hours humiliation than sinking into the unfit state he'd been in previously. The man had somehow managed to fix it last time, so he'd be able to do it again, surely. He'd probably just talk about acceptance and changing again – and really, all that had done was send Draco straight to _Granger_, of all people, and her bloody equal-rights speeches – but if Lupin's method worked, for whatever unfathomable reason, then Draco was willing to listen to him prattle on if it meant staying in his right mind for a while.

Sighing, the blond purposely cast his thoughts in another direction.

He'd be glad when Severus got back, though his godfather would probably be furious over what had happened in his absence. But knowing the Potions Master, he'd find a way to blame Potter for the whole incident. Stupid Gryffindor – it _had_ been his fault anyway, Draco rationalised. Rushing off to play hero to the Weasel, instead of concentrating on what he was supposed to be doing. If he'd been paying _attention_, the prat would've ducked the curse, and the whole thing could have been avoided…

But no, how silly, that was the _clever_ thing to do.

And where did Potter get off, thinking they were even? It seemed everything that had gone wrong lately could be traced back to him. The Boy Who Lived had done nothing but systematically destroy Draco's life. They were nowhere _near _even.

It had been him, doubtless, who was responsible for the werewolf's presence here this year – and him who had utterly failed to keep it on a leash! If he was going to bring along Dark creatures to teach at Hogwarts, he should bloody well take responsibility for them! But – _gasp_! – that was simply too _mundane _a task for the hailed Saviour! No, he'd much prefer to stride in at the last moment, catering to a hero-complex to go with that martyr one, and be the one to save the situation before it went tragically wrong.

Too bad for Draco that Potter's version of 'tragic' didn't seem to coincide with his own. Far be it from him to wish that the Gryffindor Golden Boy had deigned to show up a few moments earlier, but as it was…

But worse than that – _far _worse than that – was the sickening thought of being sworn to Potter. Thanks to Dumbledore he was sworn, irreversibly, to act like yet another starry-eyed worshipper. That's what it amounted to, anyway. Forced to run around after the idiot, fixing whatever disasters he managed to create, all the while trying to convince the rest of the world that he was still Draco Malfoy, bitter enemy of one Harry Potter.

Hah! Merlin, his life was becoming a joke…

And then there was Lucius. Lucius, who had stopped sending him letters altogether, who he could expect never to see again until – at the very least – he graduated, who was even now–

But no. He didn't want to think in detail about his father.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to move from the couch, stumbling sluggishly towards the warm, cleansing bliss of a shower and then sleep.

But first, of course, he fully intended to incinerate the robes soaked in Potter's blood.


	13. In The Name Of Preperation

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 13**: In The Name of Preparation

xxx

That weekend Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement. Hermione had cast him a worried look as he'd left the common room alone, but since this was the first time in over a week he'd disappeared, she'd let him go without comment.

Now, lying on his back on the stern-looking bed the Room had conjured, he absently spun his wand between his finders like a baton, staring up at it. The book on Animagi was next to him, open to a page nearing the end. He was almost done with his study now, ready to attempt the transformation in a few days. He was looking forward to that, if only because it meant finally being able to tell his friends what he'd been doing all this time. He hadn't told them yet because Hermione would have said it was dangerous, and Ron would have wanted to join in, which would have been a distraction.

But for the moment, he couldn't concentrate on reading. His mind flitted from one topic to the next, never settling, going from the Ravenclaw-Slytherin Quiddich match coming up, to his conversation with Ron that morning about Snape _still _being missing, and finally to the Transfiguration homework he was supposed to be doing right now.

Sighing, he dropped his wand onto the bed next to him. In what was quickly becoming a habit, he pressed his fingers to the centre of his chest, where his new scar crossed. Its presence didn't bother him as much as Ron and Hermione seemed to think it should. It wasn't exactly disfiguring. Barely noticeable, in fact, just a silvery line on his skin, neat and almost surgical. Like he'd said, the only thing that really galled him was that Malfoy had got the better of him with a cheap trick. Or a Slytherin trick, as the blond called it. How typical.

Rolling his eyes, he thought back to the unfortunate DA lesson. Ron would murder him for the thoughts going through his head, but he couldn't help but feel that Malfoy had been – or, rather, could be – helpful. For the first time, the demonstration he'd staged had been realistic. Alright, the Slytherin had been excessive – stupidly so – but Harry couldn't get rid of the memory of how rapt the entire gathering of students had been during the duel. They'd been shocked and angry that Malfoy actually wanted to do damage, and was prepared to ignore the rules to do so, so different from their usual practice duels – but at the same time, they'd seen something _real_. Anyone they faced during the war would fight in the same way as the Slytherin – wanting to hurt. The DA members, supposedly Hogwarts' junior defence, would have to get used to that. But it was… It was something he couldn't teach them.

Malfoy could, though.

He was the perfect controllable factor in a controllable environment. Capable of providing a challenge, an enemy, of sorts, and unpopular enough to inspire fear and hatred from the other students – emotions they'd also have to adjust to, Harry thought.

Some part of him knew he was being perhaps too clinical about the matter, but he told himself not to worry. This, after all, was what was needed. The DA was his responsibility, and at the very least, he'd have them prepared for what was to come.

xxx

Draco had left the castle some time after lunch, and wandered slowly down towards the little hut at the edge of the forest, careful to make sure no one saw him. He hadn't thought his ego could take another blow like that.

Now, he sat stiffly in one of Lupin's armchairs, deeming it more appropriate than the rug this time. He'd impatiently refused the offers of tea and biscuits – was still refusing them, as the older man renewed his offer every time the silence lasted too long. He didn't want to be here. _Merlin_, he'd gladly get up and walk out right now if it wasn't for the lingering threat of losing his mind. It was that lack of control which scared him more than anything; the thought that he could be changed and ruled by the creature in him even when it wasn't a full moon.

So he stayed, and forced himself to talk and listen.

The first time he'd shown up here in the middle of the night and embarrassed himself with his emotional breakdown, Lupin had only let him leave with the promise that he'd come back at least once and hear what the other werewolf had to say. So here he was, making sure his host knew exactly how unimpressed he was.

"It's only a week until the full moon," Lupin commented at length, when the quiet began to stretch between them for probably the tenth time. He sipped his tea, carefully averting his eyes from the blond.

Draco flicked his gaze skyward in annoyance. "Really? I'd totally forgotten…" he muttered, voice dripping sarcasm.

"I'd been intending to suggest something to you, as it happened…"

"Hn."

The Professor set his cup down gently on the small table between them. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees. "Now, hear me out before you say no –"

"Oh, this sounds promising."

"Now, really," Lupin said, frowning, his mild-mannered disapproval proving completely ineffectual on the Slytherin. "I'm trying to help."

Draco sighed through gritted teeth and fell silent.

"I… I was _going_ to suggest that, on the first night of the full moon, you… Well, that you spend the night here."

Had Draco at any point accepted a cup of tea from the man, he imagined he would have choked right then. Instead, he gaped. "Excuse me?"

"Well, not _here_ here," Lupin added hastily, seeing the blonde's expression. "In… in the forest, actually."

"_What_?" He was growing shriller, but couldn't quite help it.

The older werewolf sighed, casting around for an explanation that would justify what he was trying to say, rather than make it sound worse, which was all he was succeeding in doing. "I tried to tell you this before, but I think it's safe to say you were less than attentive at the time. If you're ever going to live with the curse, you have to… acknowledge it, I suppose. It's worse for those of us who try to hide it. I remember what it was like, back when I was at school… But the point is –"

"What in Merlin's name does this have to do with _spending the night in the forest_?"

Lupin flushed, as if realising exactly what his words sounded like. "I'm not saying this right," he admitted, shaking his head. "What I mean is… You're still acting like everything is normal – and that's _fine_, when you're in public, or around those you don't trust. But at some point, when you're on your own, or… or some other convenient time, such as _the full moon_, when you have no choice, you _need _to accept the thing inside you."

They stared at each other intently, until the Slytherin's grey eyes flashed and he arched an eyebrow, turning away. A muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I don't want to," he muttered, stubbornly.

Lupin shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he answered bluntly, surprising the other into looking back at him. "I'm giving you the easy option, asking if you want to spend those three nights experiencing something different, something you might even enjoy, rather than being locked up inside your private rooms. If you'd prefer, I could also suggest things like counselling, or meeting with others such as myself, or any number of less preferable –"

"You don't have any right –"

"No, I probably don't." Amber eyes regarded him steadily, for once unflinching in the face of outrage. "But if I'm capable of helping you, I'll do it whether you like it or not, Mr Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, how very _noble_. But you're forgetting that you actually _can't _make me get… counselling. You're sworn to secrecy, remember?"

The older werewolf, oddly, looked quite unfazed. "You're right, _I _can't make you do anything. The… Headmaster, however…"

The Slytherin thought Lupin might as well have just hit him. He shook his head faintly, rising to stand. "You can't… He wouldn't…"

The Professor sighed. "This is the reason he's keeping me here, Draco. He won't let me quit because he knows I can help you. But if you won't let me, and refuse to listen, then I can only recommend to him a best course of action…"

"You're _threatening_ me? _You_?"

"This is not a threat! This is help! This is so you don't lose you're mind to the curse!" The older werewolf broke off, putting a hand over his eyes until he could speak calmly again. "The only reason I was able to act like a normal human being throughout my school years was because I had James and… and Sirius, who helped me during those three nights. Because they accepted it, so could I. Let me do the same for you."

Draco's lip curled as he stared down at the Professor. "By running through the goddamned forest like an animal?"

"It's… well, it's the only way I know how. It worked for me."

"Comforting," Draco scoffed, throwing up his hands and half turning away. "What exactly would this… outing involve?"

Lupin opened his mouth to answer, then stopped with a frown. He shook his head. "If I tried to put it into words, it would only sound even stupider. You have to experience it to understand."

"Oh for god's sake," Draco snapped, annoyed. Scowl firmly in place, he turned his back on the older werewolf and stalked toward the door.

He was halfway gone when Lupin called out after him, "I expect you here Friday night, Mr Malfoy."

The Slytherin never acknowledged that he'd heard anything, so Remus was left to watch him storm away across the school grounds, just hoping that he'd listen.

xxx

The _nerve _of that man! How _dare _he threaten and blackmail _him_? Especially when he was still supposed to be moping around in his own guilt. Draco hadn't really expected that moping to end anytime soon, which was probably the real reason he was as angry as he was right now…

And as if his day couldn't get any worse – Why was he continuously thinking that lately? His life must really be in a downward spiral for it to have become a reoccurring phrase in his vocabulary – but to return to the point: as if his day couldn't get any worse, by the time he turned the corner into the hallway leading to his room, he was just in time to see Potter settling himself comfortably on the _floor_, of all places, his back to the wall opposite the portrait of Lilith, who was chatting away flirtatiously.

"I knew you'd come back," she was saying, to Draco's bemusement and mild horror. "After we were interrupted so rudely last time, I was so mad! I changed the password, you know. It took him _ages_ to guess it!"

The Slytherin flushed hotly as Potter chuckled, still not having noticed his presence. That _was not _a memory he'd ever intended to share, especially with Boy Wonder! Honestly, reduced to standing about until some god-awful hour of the night rattling off a list of random words he thought the sorceress might have chosen. It had been excruciating, especially as the threats of curses didn't work on a painting.

"Interrupting something, am I, Potter?" he snarled as he approached, startling the Gryffindor, who got to his feet hastily.

Lilith tutted. "Oh, not again…"

Draco sneered. "Can't you even get a real girlfriend?" he snapped spitefully. "Had to resort to chatting up a portrait?"

Green eyes looked unimpressed. "I came to talk to _you_, actually."

The blond didn't even acknowledge that particular statement. Instead, Draco stalked past him, spitting out the password – "_Runespore_," – and disappearing through the door that was revealed, obviously expecting to be left alone.

Harry watched expectantly, disappointed, waiting for the gilded frame to swing back into place. When it didn't move, he looked up to see the sorceress wink at him. "Go on in, darling," she murmured, smiling.

Raising his eyebrows, the Gryffindor hesitantly entered, looking around curiously. He found himself in Malfoy's living room – Merlin, what an odd thought – which consisted of a dark polished coffee table (buried under Quiddich magazines and school books), a fireplace and mantle on the far wall (adorned with fancy clock, wizarding ornaments that tended to amble up and down whatever surface they were placed upon, and an open box of expensive looking chocolates), as well as the black leather couch to the right (complete with discarded school robes and Slytherin tie).

Harry's first reaction was to smirk at how _messy _the place was. He'd called Malfoy every name he could think up in his time, but a slob had never been on the list before now. The blond seemed too… prissy to be untidy.

Appearances could be deceptive, apparently.

But as Harry continued to stare about the place, thinking of how spacey it was, it occurred to him how… alone a person must feel here, without Housemates. The room was easily as well furnished as any of the common rooms – and generally in better condition, with the plush green carpet and good-quality furniture – but the Gryffindor doubted if all that equalled better.

At that moment, Malfoy, who had been nowhere to be seen, made his reappearance from the hallway in the far right corner, practically doing a double-take at the sight of Harry standing in his living room uneasily.

"_Potter_? What in hell are you _doing_?"

The Gryffindor pointed automatically over his shoulder. "She... uhm, well…"

Grey eyes narrowed. "You and my portrait have an unhealthy relationship, you know that?"

Harry couldn't resist smirking. "Least she lets me in," he commented with fake innocence.

"Get out!"

Swiftly covering his amusement, Harry became serious again. "Malfoy, did it occur to you that I have a _reason _for being here? I'm not exactly craving your company…"

"Whatever," the blond snapped, his irritation coming off him in waves. "I don't care. Get out."

"I wanted to ask you about what happened," he went on, ignoring the blatant dismissal. "Y'know, at DA…"

"I thought we went over this." The Slytherin sighed, folding his arms in what Harry was beginning to recognise as a defensive posture.

"We did, but this is different."

"Oh, fantastic," Draco spat out sarcastically. "Yet another aspect to the whole bloody disaster… What the hell is it, Potter?"

Harry had originally had a plan for the introduction of his proposal, but he couldn't seem to remember it. Instead, the only question that came to his lips, in a curiously eager voice, was:

"Where did you even _learn_ something like that?"

The blond shrugged. "Read it somewhere," he answered evasively, not quite meeting the Gryffindor's eyes. "Anyway, I got detentions with McGonagall from now into the distant future, so if you're here to give another righteous speech you can stop right now. I think I'm being punished enough, thanks…"

Harry snorted, looking sceptical, but let it go. Arguing over his near-death experience wasn't why he was here.

"Malfoy, how much Dark magic do you know? Besides that curse, I mean."

It was almost funny to see the Slytherin look so shifty and defensive. Harry's mouth tilted in a smile, barely visible, but enough to set the blond off yet again.

Obviously annoyed by the nonchalance, Malfoy glared at him and snapped out, "What's it to you, anyway? Intend to take a full inventory before you report me to Dumbledore?"

The Gryffindor laughed lightly. "What, you think he doesn't already know full well what you're capable of? That man knows everything." He shook his head. "But no, I wanted your help, actually."

The blond raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely surprised. That, evidently, was not the response he'd been waiting for. "And why, Potter, would I help you?"

Harry shrugged, raising a hand to tick off points on his fingers. "Well, firstly, you're still obligated to come to the DA meetings – you better not have lost that Galleon, by the way. Secondly, you'll probably _like _this favour. Thirdly, you can pay me back for almost offing me –"

"What happened to being even?" Malfoy snapped, glaring. Then the second point seemed to register. "And I most certainly will not like doing anything –"

"You will," the Gryffindor stated calmly. "It involves free licence to curse anyone at the meetings."

The Slytherin blinked, taken aback. He opened his mouth once, then closed it, paused, before trying again. "I know there's a catch here, Potter…" It went unsaid that he couldn't quite find it.

The other boy chuckled. "No catch. But I draw the line at Unforgivables. Well, and anything you don't know how to reverse, really, but other than that –"

"You're not _serious_."

Harry grinned. "I could go into a full explanation of how I think you'd make a good example of a Dark wizard and preparing them for battle and exposing them to certain realities – but I think you'd just prefer to hear that, yes, I'm serious about letting you curse my friends."

The pair stared at each other, probably both thinking along the same lines about how unlikely a sentence that had been to come out of the mouth of the Boy Who Lived. Grey eyes still reflected distrust, but with it a spark of interest.

"And you really think they're going to go for this?" Draco scoffed, trying to remain aloof and rather bored.

The other shrugged. "I'll talk to them," he answered dismissively – secretly wondering what in hell he could possibly say during a conversation like that to make them agree to the idea – before assuming an expectant expression. "Do we have a deal?"

A deal. Hah. Once, Harry would have been disgusted with himself for this, and somewhere, he knew his father was spinning in his grave. He could just imagine what James would think of this. Subjecting the DA – his friends – to anything Malfoy threw at them, all in the name of preparation.

A very slow smile was spreading on the blonde's face, and he looked at Harry with new consideration. Grey eyes glinted. "Even Weasley?" he asked eventually, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Harry fought to hide his amusement at the condition, but nodded. "Even Ron," he answered. "I'm sure he'd be happy to have at you."

Draco snorted. "As if he could touch me," he muttered, though it was without the usual malice. He was distracted, eyes unfocused in thought.

Finally, he looked back, pale features back to their expressionless appearance. "Fine. Deal, Potter."

Harry smiled, genuinely pleased at the agreement. That, surely, had to be a first – being happy around Malfoy.

"Now get the hell out."

Nice that most things were still the same, though, he thought idly, as he hastily took his leave.


	14. The Disgrace Of Severus Snape

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? DMHP, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 14**: The Disgrace of Severus Snape

xxx

It was Molly Weasley's turn, along with her husband, to spend the week inside the dark, dank building of Grimmauld Place. With Sirius Black, the only permanent resident of the house, dead, the members of the Order of the Phoenix – those not otherwise occupied – rotated themselves, making sure that there was always someone present at their headquarters.

It was a lucky thing, really, considering what was about to happen…

They'd only arrived yesterday, setting down their modest supply of clothes that would do for the next seven days upstairs in the large bedroom. Before that, she hadn't seen the inside of the grim house, true to its name, in over a month. Consequently, seeing as no one but her ever bothered to cast a few humble cleaning charms, the place was a mess when they'd arrived.

But she didn't mind. Cleaning gave her something to do, after all, rather than mope about as her husband was currently doing. He missed his muggle gadgets, which had accumulated around the Burrow, and the generally chaotic atmosphere of their family home. Here, there was very little to amuse him, much to her exasperation, and the atmosphere only served to depress him further.

Humming tunelessly under her breath, if only to add some kind of sound to the oppressive silence, she brandished her wand as she wandered into the living room. She flicked it at one of the tall, wooden-backed armchairs which sat near the fire, straightening its cushions and brushing down the dark blue material it was made of. Glancing around critically, she laid eyes on the large, ornate mantelpiece which was the focal point of the room. The dark wood had once been polished and perfected, but was now covered in a layer of silvery dust. Sighing, she cast a similar charm, and watched with satisfaction as an invisible force began dusting obediently.

It was then that the fire, previously unlit and quite cold, suddenly flared into life – blazing green life – with a dull roar and a dark figure tumbled inelegantly out of the verdant flames.

Molly shrieked in fright, raising her wand automatically, defensive spells forming on her lips.

But the person on the floor at her feet didn't move, at least not threateningly. Only a pained moan rose from the crumpled form, as it shifted slowly in a failed attempt to right itself. Black robes, for the moment, concealed any recognisable feature – except for one, anyway.

One sleeve had been rolled up, to reveal a thin, pale wrist covered in streaks of blood. That in itself was disturbing enough, but Molly was quick to find the source of the bleeding, and that was even worse.

It came from the dark, disfiguring tattoo of a skull and a snake.

She gasped, hand coming up to cover her mouth. And then she was screaming.

"Arthur! _Arthur!_"

xxx

An hour and twenty long minutes later, the hastily gathered members of the Order – those that could be reached, anyway – were crammed into Dumbledore's large circular office. Some had even been called from the Ministry. Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt shifted restlessly, occasionally casting _Tempus _charms and uneasy glances at each other. As loyal as they were to Dumbledore and the Order, his abrupt summons wasn't appreciated. Moody's magical eye spun agitatedly.

Minerva and Remus had also been called away from their Monday morning classes, and were gathered with the others, waiting to hear what was going on.

Finally, closest to his desk, were the three people who had come baring the urgent new occurrence. Molly and Arthur Weasley had been asked to leave their post at Grimmauld Place in order to attend this meeting. Their usually jovial expressions were grave. Between them sat a very battered looking Severus Snape.

No one present could remember seeing the Potions Master any more worse for wear than he was currently – though at least he'd regained some semblance of dignity since his ungraceful entrance back at headquarters. Now, he hunched over in his chair, one hand clasping his side firmly. He suspected a rib was broken. Aside from that, he was also sporting areas of serious bruising and a few burns, one particularly painful one on his shoulder, where a curse had barely missed him. A gash on his forehead still bled sluggishly.

Privately, he thought himself lucky. The list of injuries was mercifully short and generally inconsequential. Worse than any of those was the Mark, which throbbed and seared and _screamed _through his blood, through his magic, the fury which was being translated through it hurting more than any physical pain…

Everything had been bandaged by now, and he'd downed all the Pain Relief potions that Poppy had given him, but they'd barely taken the edge off. His pallor, already abnormally pale, was now almost grey with fatigue and fear and agony.

"Severus." Dumbledore spoke softly, his voice gentle and almost reluctant. "What has happened?"

He'd already told the Headmaster, in the briefest of terms, what had happened. They hadn't gone into detail, though, since at the time he'd been busy trying desperately not to claw at his arm, where the Mark burned steadily white-hot, while Poppy seemed determined to dose him up to the eyeballs with potions. He'd thanked her quite genuinely for that.

Raising his eyes to regard the old man – who did, indeed, look every bit his age for once – he shook his head. "I will no longer be of use to you," he answered simply, with faint bitterness, directed at himself.

"You were discovered?" That was Kingsley, his voice not quite unsympathetic, just practical.

Severus nodded wordlessly.

"Aye, well, ye lasted this long, lad." At least half the room cast odd looks at Moody, trying to recall if they'd ever heard him speak anywhere near as civilly to the Potions Master before now. Said Potions Master at least had the grace to nod, tersely, acknowledging the comment and whatever grudging respect it held.

"What tipped them off?" Tonks asked him curiously, if a bit tactlessly. Her eyes were currently a startling blue that perfectly matched the colour of her hair.

He shrugged, or tried to, hastily stopping the motion when a short jolt of pain went through both his burnt shoulder and damaged rib. "The Dark Lord, I believe, already knew of my betrayal. He's been… waiting. Merlin knows what for. Hoping I'd slip up, perhaps, or just toying with us all. They knew, all of them, that I was a spy."

There was a profound, heavy silence in the room as everyone absorbed what this meant.

"Severus," Dumbledore finally said, "how did he find this out? Did he see it in your mind –?"

"No."

A collective sigh of relief was to be heard. Everyone present knew what it would mean if Snape's Occlumency had failed him: Voldemort would, by now, know everything about the Order of the Phoenix, the war effort, Harry….

The newly retired spy shook his head again, adamant that he hadn't been incompetent in that area. "No. I think… he must have tested me at some point. Set us up. Remember the incident a few months back?"

Dumbledore frowned, but nodded. Severus had reported that there was to be an attack on a small Muggleborn family on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, a terrorist stunt of sorts, and Kingsley had made sure to post some of his best men around the area on the supposed day of the attack.

But no Death Eaters had shown – that day, or the next, or the next. All that the whole thing had resulted in was several disgruntled Aurors traipsing home after a week-long stake-out.

It had seemed suspicious at first, and Severus had been extra cautious in the weeks and months that followed, but nothing seemed to have come of it. And after receiving a credible enough explanation that the Dark Lord had once again changed his mind, prone to whim as he was, Snape had forgotten about the matter. Such a slip would normally be inexcusable, but he placated himself somewhat that he'd been suitably distracted, with Draco's curse and a few more unfriendly encounters with Lupin.

He saw his mistake now. Voldemort had tested his loyalty, and he'd failed. The information had obviously been false, meant only to see if he'd pass it on. Which he recklessly had done.

And now… now he was useless. His purpose served. Obsolete.

The Headmaster coughed softly, drawing back their wandering thoughts. He regarded them seriously with tired blue eyes. "You're all aware of what this means. We are, as of now, effectively blind in the coming war. No one else was close enough to report Tom's movements and ideas. We… we have lost a great deal today."

Severus looked down, his cheeks flaming for some reason he couldn't pinpoint. He felt suddenly ashamed, chastised that he'd been foolish enough to lose them what little advantage they'd had, and at the same time angry that the old man could make him doubt himself in such a way. It hadn't been his fault, he wanted to protest, he hadn't _known_! But those thoughts only brought guilt, and the creeping coldness of disdain for such excuses. He despised those who justified themselves when they'd done wrong. Intentional or accidental, it didn't matter – it still came down to stupidity. In this case, his own.

But more than anything else… Stronger than the shame, the anger, or the guilt was the sudden flood of self-loathing that filled him at the thought of his own abrupt… worthlessness. At least before, distrusted, unpopular as he was, he'd been _doing _something. Now…

What was he supposed to do? Sit around issuing homework essays that were never completed and insisting that Granger stop asking infuriating questions…

What a truly _fulfilling _existence.

Caught up in his rapidly derailing train of thought, he almost jumped out of his skin when someone laid a hand on his shoulder, too lightly to agitate any unseen wounds, though his resultant twitch of shock certainly stung.

Looking up with a scowl, he was momentarily stunned silent by the fact that Lupin had, first of all, _dared_ totouch him, and secondly, was actually giving him a look he suspected was designed to express sympathy. Incredulous, he met the werewolf's soft amber gaze with a hard glare, trying to repel the unwanted contact through sheer silent force.

But Lupin didn't budge. In fact, the only reaction he gave was a fractional shift in expression. Anyone else might not have noticed, but Severus had only survived this long due to his ability to read people. And what he saw in the other man's face was… apology. For something he was about to do. Hesitancy. Anxiousness.

"We must regroup," Albus was saying, apparently not noticing the wordless interaction between them. "I suggest that the Order meet again when –"

"I can do it," Lupin suddenly burst out, removing his hand from the Potion Master's shoulder and ending whatever small communication he'd initiated.

The Headmaster blinked, glancing at him. "Sorry? Do what?"

The shabby, mild-mannered, all-around timid Professor squared his shoulders. "I… I can take Severus's place."

The sole Slytherin in the room immediately wanted to groan and hide his head in his hands at the unforgivable levels of stupidity that Gryffindors were known to sink to in the name of _bravery_. At the same time, some part of him – the part he usually repressed with unnecessary force – wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought of _Lupin _becoming a spy.

Dumbledore was staring at the werewolf with a sort of perplexity he wasn't normally given to showing. Snape could see the old man trying valiantly to remain patient and reasonable about the unfeasible suggestion, opening his mouth to give some gentle let-down.

"No, really, I can," Lupin assured, before anyone had the chance to protest. "Think about it, if you will. The Dark Lord, along with most of the wizarding world, considers me a Dark creature. It's practically expected for me to go running to him at the first chance I get."

Severus shook his head in disgust, closing his eyes. "This is ridiculous. Stop wasting our time so we can get on –"

"_And_," the man went on, stubbornly speaking over the scornful dismissal, "he'll be looking for another contact who's close to the school, and to Harry, now that Severus won't be giving him any information, false or not. He's lost the same advantage as we have, remember."

The Headmaster frowned softly, almost pityingly. Minerva's face was carefully blank. The Weasleys were trading concerned glances while the three Aurors looked impatient and annoyed.

"All well and good," Moody snapped, when no one else seemed about to speak, "but You-Know-Who ain't stupid. He's not gonna believe for one moment that you'd turn your back on Potter and Dumbledore." He held up a silencing hand when Remus tried to answer, shaking his grisly head. "And don't tell me you can lie. You ain't half as good as laddie over here at Occlumency, an even he got himself caught."

Snape gave the old Auror a sidelong glare at the continuous term 'laddie'. How patronising. He was thirty-five for Merlin's sake!

The werewolf, rather than be cowed into submissiveness, as the Slytherin fully expected, retorted strongly, looking almost defiant. "But Severus wasn't discovered through Occlumency or Legilimency! He just slipped up!"

Seeing the Potion Master's eyes flash dangerously, Dumbledore quickly asked, "What are you trying to say, Remus?"

Lupin sighed, turning his attention from Moody to the Headmaster. "We can create a cover story. It's plausible that after… after Sirius's death, I blamed you, or some such twisted logic. I blamed Harry, who led him there."

Shocked faces stared at him wordlessly. A faint line appeared between Minerva's brows as she took a step toward him. "Remus, really…"

He closed his eyes in exasperation. "Oh, honestly! I don't _believe_ that at all! I'd never blame Harry!"

Severus growled in irritation, and spat, "And _that's _what makes what you're suggesting so thoroughly ludicrous. The Dark Lord would see through you in a second, Lupin. It doesn't matter what you say, it's what you believe that gives you away."

Amber eyes turned on him intently, as if he'd said something important. "But he didn't know what you believed, did he? Not for a long time."

With an uncomfortable feeling that this was leading somewhere he wouldn't like, Severus shook his head. "No, but we've been over this. _I _can use Occlumency. What are you going to do? Promise you're telling the truth, cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Teach me."

The two words were said so earnestly that the Potions Master snapped his mouth shut, cutting off whatever scathing comments he'd been about to voice. He stared at the other man fixedly, certain, surely, that he couldn't be suggesting what he seemed to be suggesting…

Lupin began speaking twice as fast, as if trying to make his point before the inevitable interruption when the shock wore off. "Severus, you're the only expert in something like this. Show me how to do what you did. It's not like I'm about to rush into this stupidly," he hastened to assure them, for all the world sounding perfectly reasonable. "I'm a quick study. If… if you agreed to help me, it could be possible within a few months."

Minerva was frowning, shaking her head slowly. "Remus... I think you're being a little irrational. It would be impossible to learn Occlumency – at least in any kind of detail – in such a short period of time."

Lupin sighed, looking frustrated that no one seemed to understand his idea. "I realise that, Minerva. I'm not saying I'll ever be an expert on the subject –"

"Then what good is this mockery of a plan?" Snape cut him off sharply, growing tired and angry. "Even if we were to spontaneously lose our minds and entertain this insanity, you'd _have _to be an expert or end up dead within seconds!" He couldn't believe he was having this argument, really. "That could take _years_, you moronic creature, not _months_…"

Desperate, the wolf turned pleading eyes toward him. "Severus, please. Just try…"

"I will not waste my time with this farce –"

"It's not a waste of time! I can do this, I swear –"

The Potions Master leaned forward with a snarl, trying not to wince at the movement. "Oh, spare me your pathetic attempts at redemption. I refuse to be a part of whatever delusions you're currently harbouring. It _will not work _and I have nothing further to say on the matter." Backing up his vehement words, he struggled to stand with as much dignity as he could muster, fully intending to leave the room with his customary melodramatic exit.

"Severus, my boy, wait."

Hand firmly grasping the back of the chair he'd just vacated, leaning on it slightly for support, Snape turned reluctantly and cast a short-tempered glare at the Headmaster. "What?" he snapped, annoyed at the delay. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his dungeons, overdose on pain killers and avoid all human contact for another couple of days.

The old man was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled in his trademark way, looking infuriatingly thoughtful. Thoughtful was never good. At least not if there was a Slytherin in the near vicinity. So it seemed as of late, anyway.

The Potions Master went suddenly cold as something occurred to him. "Oh, you are _not _considering this idiocy –"

"Not… _exactly _as Remus is suggesting. However…"

Severus gaped, barely managing to choke out a protesting, "A-Albus!"

Dumbledore abruptly waved a dismissive hand, encompassing most of the bemused Order. "This meeting is over. I had simply meant to inform you of our current situation. If any of you hears of anything –"

"Aye, we'll let you know," Moody agreed. He, Tonks and Kingsley were already moving toward the fireplace, where they'd Floo back to the Ministry. Arthur and Molly followed them, looking hesitant.

Minerva hesitated, hovering where she was. "Albus, should I –"

"No, no, my dear. Go back to your classroom."

Puzzled, most of the occupants of the room exited to their respective destinations. Snape and Lupin were the only ones not to move, one of them too horrified to twitch, the other frozen with hope.

When they were alone, Dumbledore turned his steady gaze on them. "Let me first make it clear that I entirely agree with Severus in that it would be foolish to try and learn Occlumency within a few months. Especially when something this important is depending on the Occlumens' skills."

The Potions Master looked relieved, standing a little straighter. Remus deflated.

"However," the Headmaster went on, halting their respective reactions, "something similar occurs to me."

He looked sharply towards the Slytherin. "It occurs to me, Severus, that you are also an accomplished Legilimens."

"So?" came the sharp query, as Snape tried futilely to guess where this was going.

"My dear boy, there may be more than one way to deceive the Dark Lord…"

"What are you suggesting?"

Instead of answering directly, the Headmaster looked at Remus intently. "My boy, how serious are you, exactly, about pursuing this idea? Serious enough to sacrifice your privacy? Surrender the very sanctity of your mind to another wizard?"

The werewolf nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

"Surrender it to Severus?"

The Potions Master gave an odd little twitch, seeming caught between turning on the other Professor and cringing away from him. He opened his mouth to protest, wanting to yell at the two men in the room, wanting to storm out in horror and anger, wanting to do _something _other than glare impotently at the werewolf, furiously willing him to back down from this ludicrous situation. Surely, _surely_ they couldn't expect this of him. Not this final humiliation and disgrace on top of everything else. Not this…

Remus choked on the reply he'd intended to give, swallowing the quick agreement. Automatically, he turned to look at Severus, instantly wishing he hadn't. The man's eyes spat black fire with such intensity it made Remus want to run away with his tail between his legs until he found a nice little corner he could hide in.

Besides, it was more than Severus's rage that forced him to hesitate. He knew what Albus was hinting at. A magical experiment that had only been tested a few times, but which would be perfect in this situation.

The Headmaster intended for the Slytherin to use his skills in Legilimency to enter Remus's mind, and it would be him to build the shields and defences needed, instead of relying on the basic Occlumency Remus might be able to grasp in a few months.

The werewolf was fine with this in theory – when the Legilimens was someone who was nameless to him; someone unknown but vaguely agreeable.

But Severus…?

It would mean that the Potions Master would have unlimited access to his thoughts, feelings and every secret he'd ever harboured. In general, Remus wasn't a particularly secretive person. Other than the subject of his affliction – which Severus was already aware of – he was usually quite open.

But there were certain things he considered very, very private.

And obviously, the Slytherin wanted nothing to do with the plan. The hand that grasped the chair was white knuckled, and he was slowly, faintly shaking his head in warning.

But what choice was there? How could he refuse now, when this was the chance to make up for some of the damage he'd already done?

He couldn't. That was the simple answer.

"Yes," he answered finally, with an apologetic glance at Severus, and a resolute nod for Albus.


	15. Waiting

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 15**: Waiting

xxx

In the days that followed, it became apparent that almost everyone, for one reason or another, was waiting anxiously for the coming of the full moon.

In Draco's case, the reason was obvious. He was dreading the weekend, which rushed toward him like an oncoming train. Again, the useless, overpowering _want _came upon him, just like before. He didn't _want _to do this. He _wanted _to be normal again, wanted it with more force than he'd wanted anything before in his life.

But the wanting was impotent. The train came anyway, its headlights as bright and white as the glow of the moon.

Alone in his private rooms, he considered visiting the Slytherins, but soon dismissed the idea. Being around his friends these past few weeks was a fine and welcome distraction, as well as a foolproof way of convincing himself that nothing had _really_ changed, but he was beginning to notice that he disliked company in the days before the transformation. It made him tense, always afraid the wolf was too close to the surface and would give him away at any moment.

This was related to the reason that Harry was awaiting the full moon. His plans for the DA had come to a temporary halt when the Slytherin had point blank refused to attend any more meetings until after the weekend, when he'd be returned to relative normalcy. Besides, Harry wasn't particularly keen on the idea of setting loose an edgy werewolf to curse his friends. He wanted to prepare them, but wasn't willing to go _that _far. Both he and Draco had visions of the things that could go wrong – visions that included the blonde's shorter than usual temper and what he might do if made angry. Also, neither wanted to risk the entire DA discovering Draco's curse.

So Harry waited to break the news of his plans to his friends. He'd decided to tell Ron and Hermione first, though only when it was closer to the time. He didn't want to spend days listening to them try and dissuade him. He could just imagine Hermione's scandalised protests and Ron's choked indignity. No, better to wait.

With him waited Remus Lupin and Severus Snape, though for different reasons entirely.

How _considerate_, Severus had thought cynically, when Albus had first told him they would wait until he'd recovered somewhat before beginning this… _experiment_. He would have the week to go about mending his injuries and his frazzled nerves before he was subjected to another round of torture, this one involving that pathetic excuse for a man.

Shrewdly, Severus guessed that his own damaged state wasn't the only reason they were being instructed to wait. Albus might like to make himself out to be merciful by considering his Potion Master's ill health, but there was more to it than that. He was worried about the nearness of the full moon. Merlin knew what effect it would have on mental magic.

Severus didn't really want to know. He didn't want to know anything about Lupin's mental world. He didn't want to know _Lupin_, damn it all! The man was a plague; a pest that had followed Severus throughout his life.

But this time… This time it was worse than ever, if only because it would be so much more personal. Always before, he'd been able to disassociate himself, even physically distance himself. But now… He was being asked to enter the wolf's mind, submerge himself in thoughts that weren't his own in order to protect that mind and those thoughts. It felt… intimate. Horribly, disgustingly intimate.

And in the name of duty he couldn't say no.

Albus had cornered him there. Given him that look that was pointedly unassuming, making it clear that the choice to say yes was his alone, even though it wasn't really a choice.

Meanwhile, Remus was as nervous as Severus was angry. No, strike that – he was terrified. It was hitting home now, as the days passed, exactly what he'd agreed to. Oh, he was still quite determined to go through with it, of course, but the thought of letting another person into his head... Letting _Severus _into his head!

He hadn't minded the idea of the other man teaching him Occlumency, even though that would have involved a fair share of Legilimency. At least then the object would have been to guard his own thoughts. But this new idea, this experimental process, it meant purposely taking down any and all defences, leaving himself thoroughly vulnerable and allowing the other man in. It meant giving him free reign and a front row seat to all of his thoughts and memories. It meant _trusting_ him to an awful degree.

There were things Remus didn't want Severus to see. Lots of things.

And so, in these states, they waited for the moon.

xxx

"Bishop to D3. Checkmate."

Harry watched resignedly as Ron's white bishop bashed aside his pawn and claimed the square, finally cornering his king. He hadn't really expected any other outcome, so wasn't too disappointed by his third loss in a row. Sighing, he sat back in his chair, half smiling as he watched the white chess pieces give their silent victory cheer.

"You're getting better," his redheaded friend offered.

Harry grinned. "No I'm not," he admitted freely. Closing his eyes, he raised his arms above his head and stretched.

Hermione glanced up from her book, noticing their game had ended. "That didn't last long," she commented.

"It never does," Ron teased. "Harry, great duellist, mate, but you know squat about chess."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but before he had a chance to return the playful banter, he was interrupted by Hermione, who abruptly sat forward in interest. "Speaking of duelling, when do you want to set up the next meeting? I was thinking this weekend. Tomorrow would be good –"

"No!" he cut her off swiftly, earning him a surprised look. "I, uhm, was thinking of next week sometime, actually."

The redhead nodded. "Yeah, give him a break, Hermione. Weekends are meant for relaxing. Besides, it's the Hogsmeade trip, isn't it? No one's gonna want to show up when they could be down the pub instead."

She rolled her eyes, but backed down. "Fine. Just let me know when you pick a day, Harry, so I can set the new date and time into the Galleons."

He nodded vaguely, his mind wandering.

"So where are we going tomorrow?" Ron asked them. "I think I might stop off at Zonko's and Honeydukes. Run out of Fizzing Wizzbees. Either of you have anywhere particular in mind?"

But Harry wasn't listening. He stood up, extracting himself from the squishy embrace of the Gryffindor armchair and oblivious to the faintly surprised expressions his friends wore. "Listen, I'm going out for a while. I'll try and be back by –"

"Harry!"

He blinked, cut short by Hermione's sudden high-pitched protest. She was staring at him with wide eyes, her book clutched in too-tight fingers.

"Harry, this has to stop!"

"Sorry… what?" he asked, feeling lost.

Ron was looking anxiously between his friends, obviously unsure whether or not to interrupt. Not that Hermione would have let him, judging by the look on her face. "Harry James Potter! For months now you've been wandering off on your own like this! It has to stop! You can talk to us, you know!"

He frowned in bemusement. "Hermione, what –?"

She sighed and shut her book with a snap. "I understand it must be… hard, but honestly, we're here if you need us –"

"This isn't about Sirius, okay?" he snapped, realising what she was driving at. Not entirely, anyway, he added silently to himself.

"Then what?" she demanded. "Why are you being so secretive?"

"I'm not!" As soon as the denial left his lips he realised it was a lie, but couldn't bring himself to retract it. He sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Look, I just want to be on my own sometimes. It's nothing to worry about. Really."

She was looking at him sadly, obviously not believing.

Annoyed, he turned away. "I'll see you later." And with that, he left, feeling vaguely glad that the common room was empty, and no one had witnessed the brief, tense interaction.

xxx

While Harry was making his way towards the secluded Room of Requirement, Draco was slipping unseen out onto the castle grounds and making his way reluctantly towards the little hut near the edge of the forest.

He'd been determined not to do this, if only for the sake of defying Lupin, who had dared to give him an order. "I expect you here Friday," he'd said. Indeed! Draco had scoffed, not for a moment intending to obey.

He sighed. In truth, he wasn't sure why he'd changed his mind. He certainly hadn't meant to. He was indulging this on a whim, really. Or so he told himself. No way did he believe Lupin could actually _help _with this madness. It was just morbid curiosity, agreeing to go along with it.

Sneering at his own justifications, he shook his head and quickened his pace. The sun was just touching the lake, seeming to drown and bleed into the water.

xxx

He was ready. He could do this. He knew he could.

Book in one hand, held open to the significant page, wand in the other, he stood in the centre of the Room with his eyes closed, concentrating. Under his breath he murmured words long committed to memory, ever since he'd started this study, in fact. It was the spell that would activate the very first transformation. Cast it right, and he'd never have to use it again, but would be able to change forms with a simple thought.

He'd spent week after week learning it in detail. Having started reading the book even before he'd returned to Hogwarts, he was finally finished, and sure that he could do it.

In his mind he held the image of the animal he'd eventually determined to be his Animagus form. That part had taken the longest and most patience. It had required something akin to meditation, during which he'd had to wait until the dim shape of it came together in his mind's eye. For some wizards, it was impossible to move any further than this. They found their animal representative distasteful or, in their opinion, degrading, and so couldn't accept it.

Harry had had no such trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact. He'd been thrilled with his.

Currently, he held that shape behind his eyes, focusing on it intensely, all the while muttering the words to make sure he remembered them correctly.

Rationally, this was a stupid thing to be doing. He knew that, on some level, but ignored it. He ignored the fact that he was attempting a potentially disastrous spell, in a place where no one could reach him if he needed help, and was technically committing a crime by not informing anyone of his studies. If this worked, he'd be an unregistered Animagus.

Just like his father and Sirius, he told himself as comfort.

Sighing, he pushed thoughts like that away. He pushed all thoughts away, trying to empty his head as the book advised, filling it only with the words of the spell. Finally, raising his wand from where it hung loosely at his side, he initiated the casting with a sharp, precise flick upwards.

Instantly alerted to his intent, he felt his magic rush toward the length of wood, gathering beneath his skin, almost humming as he began to speak, haltingly at first, but growing stronger as the hum of the magic increased. Seeming to encourage him, it thrilled through his veins as it surged towards certain points on his body, creating nexus points of power. He felt it in his throat, twining around the words as he voiced them, giving them meaning and energy. It pooled somewhere near his stomach, at the core of him, radiating warmth. And as he manoeuvred his wand through the intricate flourishes and flicks, he felt it as a hand clasped around his own, guiding the gestures.

The words, ingrained into him, came easily after the first initial stumbles. He intoned the flowing Latin without fault, and sensed it combine with the magic in the air around him. A reasonably long spell, his only problem came as he struggled to keep in place the image of his animal as he spoke.

So focused on this was he that he barely noticed the odd sensations at first. Assuming that the effects of the spell, if he was successful, would begin promptly after finishing the incantation, he wasn't prepared to find they were beginning halfway through.

But sure enough, as he murmured lowly, the creeping feeling that he was suddenly weightless came upon him. His stomach flipped uncomfortably, as if he was falling, and he had to concentrate even harder to keep the spell under control. He fought to keep the words and the image in mind as the odd sensations grew stronger.

It occurred to him, for possibly the first time, how seriously wrong this could all go. He was alone and trapped if this failed. A spell supposedly out of his league and he'd tried it in the most isolated place he could find. Panic joined the floating sensation in his stomach.

But no, he couldn't afford panic. He struggled for calm and concentration, pushing away the rush of nervous adrenaline that had started to surge through him.

In this way, he forced out the last few lines of the spell, ending with a breath of sheer relief.

He waited. The Room was distinctly silent now, without his quiet chanting. He barely dared move, in case he broke the stillness. The weightlessness was still present, sickening him slightly. But other than that, nothing.

He continued to wait, holding his breath. Had he done something wrong? Mispronounced a word? Flicked his wand in the wrong direction? No, he couldn't have. He _knew_, off by heart, every nuance of this spell. He'd studied for this harder than he had for exams. He _couldn't_ have gotten it wrong!It was–

Something seemed to collide with his stomach. Not painfully, but the feeling of impact was so real he doubled over, gasping. As if he'd been hit by a Bludger, it winded him, and he expected at any moment to feel the aftershock of pain. It didn't come. Instead, it stunned him to feel another impact strike at him from behind. Arching, he grunted in surprise and fell to his knees, trying desperately to keep his wits about him, instead of losing them to fright.

He wasn't sure if this was supposed to happen, and that scared him.

Everything seemed to start falling away from him. The world flickered and fractured in his vision, and he had to close his eyes, the sight making him nauseas. His sense of sight removed, he was left with nothing to concentrate on but the sudden feeling that he was _flowing _and shifting. Everything was changing, leaving him alone and floating in empty space and magic.

Abruptly remembering the advice the book had given him, he brought to mind the traits and characteristics of what he was about to become. He thought of four legs and fur and running and strength. He thought of scents, sight and sounds.

Taking notice of the impression he created in his head, his magic leapt upon it, taking it from him and twisting it into reality. The flowing sensation increased and he realised it was the feeling of his body changing shape. It didn't hurt – not like the Polyjuice transformation in second year – but it was strange enough to disorientate him.

He started to stagger, dizzy, somehow on his feet again. Only he wasn't, not really. Limbs tangled beneath him, strange and unused, clumsy and awkward. He fell, gasping.

Was this right? Was he supposed to feel like this, ill and light-headed? Desperate to know if it had worked, he opened his eyes hesitantly. The world was in shades of grey around him. That was a good start – right?

Responding to his need, as it was designed to do, the Room took it upon itself to conjure a mirror. Harry blinked, and in a second the full length, ornately framed glass stood before him.

Even though he'd expected it, he tried to swear in surprise. Instead, the sound came out as a sharp yelp.

The only thing he recognised about his reflection were his eyes. As ever, they were the bright, verdant green that was his trademark. They looked quite strange on the face of the massive black dog he'd become.

Staring in amazement, Harry wasn't sure what reaction to give. With an effort, he managed to coordinate his four legs enough to stand, and was shocked simply by his own size. Standing like this, he'd be almost chest-height against someone like Hermione, able to tower over her if he balanced only on his back legs. Coarse black hair was as untidy as ever, sticking up at odd angles all over him. Long muzzle ended in a wet nose, and was filled with teeth unmistakeably canine.

He gaped at the mirror, unsure if this was real.

He'd _done _it. He was an Animagus! An unregistered Animagus, but one nonetheless!

He'd long familiarised himself to the fact that his animal form was very much like Sirius's had been, possibly even influenced by the man, but seeing it in real life was something else. He spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of every new angle of himself, large padded paws almost tripping him at first.

Excitement and exhilaration rushed through him. This was it! He'd actually done it!

Maybe it was the amazement, new and fresh, or something he'd been intending all along, somewhere in the back of his mind – but suddenly he wanted out. Out of the dark, isolated Room, out of the castle, out of the monotony he'd come to think of as life.

He wanted to _run_. Wanted it instinctively, as if urged by this new body. So, padding carefully towards the door, still adjusting to the use of four limbs, he reached out a paw and scratched it open, before bounding out into the corridor. He was sure no one would see him, this time of night – and really, couldn't much bring himself to care if someone did. Giving way to the want, he made his way towards the castle foyer, and then out onto the castle grounds.

And then, just for the joy of it, the rush of it, he ran.


	16. Canine Affinity

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 16: **Canine Affinity

xxx

Overcome with… with _instinct_, Harry ran, far faster than he'd ever be able to manage as a human. The night air rushed past him, sweet and cold, feeling strange as it ruffled his fur. Fur. Merlin, he had _fur_. His sudden exhilaration shocked him, making him bound deliriously across the grassy stretch in front of him, travelling on a high, wanting to yell out with excitement in the same way he'd once done when flying with Buckbeak. This was the same feeling, the same odd sense of liberation.

He barked, raising his head towards the sky and snapping elongated jaws around the sound. It came out deep and loud and only slightly unsure. Pleased, he did it again, and then again, inwardly laughing happily. It was the perfect, wordless sound of joy that the human voice couldn't quite accomplish. He didn't care that, to anyone else, he probably sounded vicious and dangerous – he was _happy_.

Exultant, he forced himself to move ever faster, forcing his body lower to the ground and concentrating to coordinate his new limbs. Four large paws pounded heavily on the grass, propelling him forward with canine strength and grace, something he could only dream of in his usual awkward, adolescent form.

The hut on the edge of the forest suddenly caught his eye, and he was struck with the fantastic realisation that maybe he wouldn't have to explore the grounds alone tonight. With another excited bark, he pelted off in the direction of Remus, hoping the wolf would consent to leaving his cosy home while the moon was full, just this once.

Mouth agape, tongue lolling in what he felt was a very dog-ish fashion, he loped forward, regaining speed as he went. This would be brilliant. He could give Remus what James and Sirius had once given: company, on this night when the werewolf was truly isolated. It would be a thank you, of sorts…

Lost in his thoughts, and speed increasing, his reaction was dulled when he saw the familiar figure of Fang suddenly bound out in front of him from behind the hut, followed swiftly by a paler form, large and moving and directly in Harry's path.

He tried to stop, to skid to a halt, but he was still unused to managing four legs, especially at this pace, and wasn't particularly surprised when they tangled beneath him. His momentum carried him forward unwillingly, and the next thing he knew he was barrelling into something roughly his own size, tumbling, rolling awkwardly, a graceless knot of long limbs and fur-covered bodies, growls and startled yelps escaping them.

Frantically, Harry fought to extract himself when the finally came to a stop, staggering back into an upright position before backing hastily away from the unknown presence.

Fang reappeared, dancing excitedly, his tail wagging violently. He seemed instantly to recognise Harry, showing no hesitation in coming closer, sticking his wet muzzle into Harry's face to examine this new appearance.

But Harry was too distracted eyeing the creature he'd just unceremoniously crashed into. Light, pale fur was practically aglow in the moonlight, shimmering as the other regained his feet, muscles shifting under the silvery coat. Harry gaped, fascinated and wary.

And then arctic eyes were turned on him, sending a shiver of recognition down his spine.

Malfoy!

Automatically, he tried to speak the name, but it only came out as a low, vaguely hostile growl. The white werewolf stared back at him for a moment before he, too, was hit by realisation. Lips drew back in a snarl, revealing flashing teeth.

Another four-legged figure intercepted whatever altercation might have happened between them. Harry blinked at Remus's wolf form, recognising him instantly, if only from the golden eyes that flashed reprimand between himself and Malfoy. He'd only ever seen the older man like this once before, briefly, the night he'd stunned him after his attack on the Slytherins. This was his first chance to fully study the other. He made a brown wolf, speckled with black here and there, as well as a few whitening patches of fur near his muzzle and ears.

Harry couldn't hide his confusion or surprise, and found the feelings translated to a mildly embarrassing whine.

It seemed Remus knew him instantly, as he looked at him with fond, curious eyes. From behind him, Malfoy stepped forward to get a better look. The two wolves stared at him intently. Harry could just imaging the Slytherin's expression if he'd been in human form: falsely aloof, determined not to be impressed that he'd managed that Animagus transformation, but the glint of grey eyes giving away his envy.

It was hard, trying to communicate without a voice. Harry wanted to ask what the pair of them were doing, where they were going. He wanted to go with them. Then again, it seemed Malfoy didn't need words to clearly convey his dislike of Harry's presence. He gave another warning growl, before turning and walking away moodily.

Harry turned hopeful eyes towards Remus, even giving a slow wag of his tail, which was an odd sensation.

The werewolf gave him what he was sure would have been an exasperated look if he'd been human, before turning away and heading off in the same direction as Malfoy, towards the forest. Harry drooped, disappointed. He would have liked to have kept Remus company, even learnt from the older man…

Suddenly, a sharp bark startled him, and he looked up, surprised, to see the two wolves looking at him expectantly. Remus tilted his head back and howled, before rushing off into the darkness, the silvery flash of the Slytherin streaking after him. Fang appeared from nowhere, pounding past the startled Gryffindor in eager pursuit.

Harry froze for all of a fraction of a second, as slow realisation sank in. Abruptly, he understood what had just occurred.

An invitation.

Ecstatic, he gave chase.

xxx

The breaths he took burned in his chest, sharp and fast, in out, quicker, quicker, must keep running, racing, _winning_. Feet pounding amid twigs, mud and leaves, couldn't afford to trip, had to push forward.

His heartbeat was thundering away inside his chest, so loud he couldn't hear anything else; not the violent snapping of branches as he tore through them, not the whipping of rain-damp leaves, nor the rushing of air past his ears. He was deaf to everything but his own heartbeat, and perhaps, if he wasn't imagining it, the heartbeat of the person he was racing.

Malfoy pelted along beside him, a white flash in the darkness. They shot through the forest undergrowth side by side, perfectly aligned, both fighting desperately to take the lead. This was the same rivalry which took them over when they played Quiddich, only this was racing purely for the sake of racing. There were no team-mates to worry about, no Bludgers flying out of nowhere, not even a target that one of them had to catch. There was just them and the need to _win_.

Thinking this, Harry surged forward with a burst of adrenaline. An overjoyed growl escaped him as Malfoy easily kept pace, their necks extended, just trying to get even an inch on the other. God, he _loved _this! The competition, the… the _fight_!

He felt like they'd been running for hours, with Remus and Fang just managing to keep up somewhere behind, the older werewolf keeping a tolerant eye on them. Earlier, after they'd first entered the forest, they'd tussled and fought as they trailed behind Remus, continuously falling behind and infuriating the tawny coloured wolf.

Each had struggled to gain the upper hand, Harry using his greater height – even in this form – and Malfoy proving annoyingly fast. They'd growled and snapped, shoved, clawed, pinned, rolled, kicked and bared their teeth, all in the effort to prove themselves the best. A few times, Harry had bitten the other, sinking his teeth into a flank or the side of the wolf's neck, normally causing a sharp yelp and swift retaliation. But no matter how many times he did this, Harry noted the fact that Malfoy never tried to bite him in return. Twice, he'd felt teeth grazing an ear, and then a shoulder, but never had the Slytherin lost his control enough to do something stupid.

It had made Harry nervous, at first, the thought that if he wasn't careful Malfoy could curse him with a single bite, but his worries were so far proving groundless.

Besides, sensible thoughts like that were beginning to go lost in the back of his mind, forgotten in favour of more important matters. Like racing. Gasping breath through his open mouth, he put on another burst of speed just as they surged out into a clearing. Harry reluctantly slowed his pace, noticing that Malfoy was doing the same, taking the opportunity to wait for Fang and Remus and catch their breath.

Flopping down onto his stomach, panting, Harry turned his head and watched as Remus approached in a more dignified manner, golden eyes alight with what might have been amusement. Fang loped after him, happily throwing himself down onto the grass near Malfoy, who gave him a cold look.

Harry wanted to chuckle at that sight, seeing the haughty Slytherin glaring distastefully at the dog. What was getting to him, Harry knew, was that Fang was no longer his underling – at least, not for tonight. They were equals here; the werewolves, the dog and the Animagus. Well, almost. When it came down to it, when everything depended on canine instinct, and the knowledge of the world from a canine point of view, Fang actually had the advantage on Malfoy. The dog was used to it. And that fact would be driving the Slytherin insane. There was no such thing as teacher, student or pet among them now, and for someone who'd been raised surrounded by social circles, concerned with social status, encouraged to climb the social ladder… Harry almost felt sorry for him.

Currently, the pale wolf was sat with his back to the Gryffindor, his head raised to stare at the moon thoughtfully. Harry couldn't resist. Seeing the other so distracted, he hauled himself to his feet and padded up behind him. Before the Slytherin had a chance to acknowledge him, Harry darted forward and nipped sharply at an ear, growling as he did so.

Malfoy yelped gracelessly, caught unaware, before turning on him in outrage. Harry was already bounding away, but within seconds he was being tackled to the ground by an angry white blur. They rolled, kicking awkwardly, each trying to make sure they came out on top. Once again, Malfoy's teeth closed on his throat, nowhere near close to being a real bite, quite gentle even. But the warning was there, the threat of what he _could _do.

Harry wanted to laugh out loud, knowing that the other was bluffing. He didn't know why he was so sure, but the thought of Malfoy purposefully biting him was faintly ridiculous, at least at this moment in time. The animosity and fury that usually existed between them was gone, to be replaced by this… rivalry. Harmless rivalry.

Harry held no delusions that this was a permanent thing. It was as temporary as the full moon, and existed only as long as their makeshift pack did. Come the morning, they would be enemies again, Remus would be Professor Lupin, and Fang would be the endearing pet.

But this was nice, while it lasted.

They spent long hours exploring the forest and their own limitations. If Remus had thought to lead them through the maze of trees, he was to be disappointed. Harry and Draco ended up leading him, as they raced ahead, competitive to the very last, both wanting to choose the direction they'd take. But eventually their destination ceased to matter, as they were simply running, caught up in the exhilaration of the act, caught up in the sound of two heartbeats, and gasping breath, and pounding feet amid the twigs, mud and leaves.

xxx

Harry woke slowly and reluctantly. He squeezed his eyes shut against consciousness, wanting to fall back into blissful sleep rather than squint against the sunlight that struck him right in the face. Groggy, he raised a hand to cover his eyes.

Or tried to.

Instead, he felt a claw rake awkwardly along his nose. Immediately awake, he blinked in puzzlement when the world, as bright as it was, seemed to be in shades of black and white, and his viewpoint very close to the ground. A threadbare rug was his bed, apparently. Still not moving much, he cast a glance around himself, feeling very disorientated. The first things he saw were paws. His paws.

Everything rushed back to him with a dull thud then. His success at the transformation, the exploration of the grounds, encountering Malfoy and Remus, the forest… He even remembered returning to Remus's hut when they'd finally tired, collapsing as soon as they entered and giving way to exhaustion.

He wondered what time it was.

Realising he couldn't cast _Tempus _like this, he closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on returning to his natural form. He thought of simple things, like being able to see in colour, and a height of 5'9, and wearing clothes and trainers, rather than fur.

Within seconds he could feel the change come upon him. It didn't hurt, not like the werewolf transformation, but rather felt strange to an entirely new degree. Once again he experienced the odd sensation of shifting and flowing, resuming his human form. In fact, he was returned to exactly the same state as he'd been in when he initiated the change, right down to the presence of his wand, clothes and glasses, something he'd been vaguely worried about.

Blinking a few times, he pushed the glass frames further up the bridge of his nose, still squinting against the light. He was lying on his side, he realised, directly facing the small window and its stream of daylight.

Sighing irritably, he roused himself to move, wincing as every muscle in his body seemed to rebel. Ignoring the jolts of pain, he levered himself upwards with an effort.

At the movement, something very close to him grumbled and stirred, and an arm he hadn't noticed before now tightened around his waist.

Alarmed, Harry froze, looking down at himself. Sure enough, a pale limb was thrown across his body, fingers half curled in his shirt. _Knowing _full well that he didn't want to know, he turned his head slowly, carefully peering over his shoulder.

Malfoy lay next to him, blissfully unaware of the compromising position they were in. He slept soundly, lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering, and a few strands of hair shivering softly with each slow breath. Falsely angelic. In fact, the only thing that spoiled the image was the dirt. It was everywhere, streaks of mud right through the silver-blond hair, a few leaves clinging to the strands. A dark smudge marred an otherwise flawless cheek and there was the faint scent of rain, sweat and wet dog about him.

Harry's stomach tightened abruptly, but still he couldn't move. He stared, wide-eyed and horrified and faintly fascinated. Slowly – Merlin, so slowly, he didn't want the other to wake – he moved, dragging himself further away from the Slytherin and turning to look at him properly.

And promptly blushed to a painful degree.

He fought valiantly to stop his eyes from straying, if only for his own peace of mind, but it was impossible. With morbid curiosity, they flicked downwards before he could stop the glance and fix it very, very pointedly on the blonde's face.

Malfoy was naked.

Naked, and still attached to him in sleep, his arm persistently wrapped around Harry's waist. The Gryffindor wanted to die then and there from the mortification of it all. Cheeks burning furiously, he barely dared to move. If he moved, either Malfoy would wake up, or he'd end up… _looking_.

And so, he stared very fixedly at the top of the blond head, wondering desperately if he could make it to the door, and then to the castle, and then to the sanctuary of his bedroom, which he swore to never leave again, all without waking anyone else. If he could, no one else would have to know of this humiliating–

Wait. This wasn't his fault. It certainly wasn't _him_ clinging to Malfoy. It was the other way around!

Even so, he thought, after a few moments deliberation, he'd rather avoid the awkwardness.

Carefully, he took hold of the slender wrist that was draped across him, lifting it and gently moving out of reach before letting go. The Slytherin stirred again at the loss of contact, making Harry freeze with fear. Long fingers flexed against the woven texture of the rug, before Malfoy drew back his arm.

Harry waited motionlessly, terrified of seeing the grey eyes open, but the blond gave no other reaction. Relieved, he stood, successfully free of the embrace.

Unable to help it, he glanced around the room curiously. Remus, he was eternally grateful to see, had had the sense to curl up under the covers of his bed before going to sleep, and was thankfully well concealed and sleeping peacefully. Fang was with him, lying on the foot of the mattress and snoring lightly.

So it was only Malfoy who'd wake up to a good helping of humiliation, he thought with a bit of satisfaction. It'd serve the git right. And besides, it could have been worse, if he'd surfaced only to find himself wrapped around his supposed worst enemy. Harry considered himself very merciful for never intending to bring that up.

Smirking slightly, he let his guard down for a split second, and that was all the time needed to casually glance down at the sleeping boy. The smirk dropped, and colour tinged his cheeks again, but this time he didn't quite manage to look away.

The one thing that stuck in his head, quite stupidly, was that Malfoy was _pale_. An expanse of pure white skin was displayed before him in the form of artlessly splayed limbs, with not a freckle or patch of tan to colour it. In the bright light, Harry could see the faint glow of downy blond hair on his arms and legs, so light and thin it wouldn't have been visible without the direct illumination.

He tried to avert his eyes after those few brief impressions, but…

He was thin, as well. All flat expanses of flesh and a few jutting curves of bone. Harry found himself examining the softened line of a collarbone, his gaze falling to where it dipped. Trailing downwards, noting the faint outline of ribs, a vague suggestion of muscle, the dark hollow of a navel, a neat trail of blonde leading lower, and _oh god _he had to get out of here.

He stumbled away, forgetting his determination to be silent, and practically fled the little hut. Outside, he gasped a breath of pure relief at being out of sight, before beginning to walk – practically jog – towards the castle.

Malfoy would realise, eventually, that he'd been seen naked by his rival, and doubtless he'd feel awkward for a week or so. But really, Harry thought bitterly, Malfoy was the lucky one.

He'd never know the _half _of it.


	17. Passing Notes

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 17**: Passing Notes

xxx

"_Valour_," Harry mumbled tiredly to the Fat Lady, who started from her sleep at the sound of his voice. She cast him an irritable look before swinging forward, admitting him into the Gryffindor common room.

Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled through the small entrance. It was barely nine o' clock in the morning, he'd discovered, upon casting a _Tempus _charm on his way back towards the castle. Too early to be awake on a weekend, that was for sure.

Grumbling quietly, he wandered through the common room, which was deserted other than a few early-risers, mostly seventh years. They cast Harry curious glances, probably prompted by his less than pristine appearance, although Harry had yet to notice the mud stains, leaves and twigs that covered him, in the same way they covered Draco. He ignored his fellow Gryffindors, uninterested by the thought of explanations.

Bed seemed like the only logical destination. He was so tired, and every muscle he owned still ached, stiff and sore, not at all loosened by his walk across the grounds and through the castle. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep – this time, preferably, _not _with Malfoy hanging off his waist.

That particular wake-up call was possibly the most disturbing thing Harry had ever experienced. Quite pointedly, he was trying to avoid thinking about it.

The dormitory was still filled with the sounds of light breathing and the occasional snore when he entered. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd wake up and simply assume he'd returned slightly late last night, never noticing he'd disappeared for such an extended period of time.

Thinking this, ever hopeful, he fell gracelessly into bed – completely ruining his plan with the fact that he was still fully dressed, covered in mud and lying on top of the covers.

xxx

Hermione had been unspeakably relieved when Ron came to tell her that Harry was back in the dorms. The pair had sat at the breakfast table, discussing their friend's night time absence.

The witch was part angry, exasperated and sympathetic. She was sick of these unexplained disappearances. She understood that Harry thought he needed to be alone, but it was becoming ridiculous now. Especially when he let her and Ron sit up half the night with worry.

And what in Merlin's name had he been _doing_, to come back looking like he did? Ron hadn't woken him, but he'd given her a description of the state their friend was in. Anyone would think he'd been wandering about the forest or something!

They let him sleep through breakfast, and well into the afternoon, even though Hermione fumed throughout, longing to lecture. Ron had tried to wake him if only to ask if he was up to the Hogsmeade visit, but after receiving an unintelligible but clearly hostile mumble in return, he'd given up, and they'd gone without him. It was only when dinner was being served back in the castle, sometime between six and seven that evening, that they finally laid eyes on him.

Harry stumbled blurry-eyed through the doors of the Great Hall. He'd obviously showered and changed, though the hair was as messy as ever and the muggle style clothes he wore seemed mismatched and too baggy. But that wasn't really a surprise.

The black haired boy dropped onto the bench between his friends, who were staring at him wordlessly, waiting for some kind of explanation. He didn't seem to notice, however. Dazedly, he simply looked around at the plates of food and asked, absently, "Isn't there any chicken left?"

"Harry!" Hermione snapped in annoyance, unable to restrain herself for any length of time. "Aren't you going to even _try _to… to…" She trailed off, stuttering with indignity.

Casting the girl a sympathetic look, Ron took over. "Mate, where _were _you last night?"

Green eyes stared at him blankly for a few moments, blinking. "Uhm…"

What was he supposed to say, really? He could hear it now: _Last night? Oh I was just out with Malfoy. Y'know, that guy we all hate. Anyway, he's a werewolf now, didn't you know? What, me? I'm an Animagus. Sorry I didn't tell you or anything…_

Hah. Hardly.

"I'll tell you about it later," he answered finally, glancing pointedly at the other Gryffindors around the table, hoping they'd catch the hint. Maybe he'd be able to think up a story to do with the Order, or a detention gone wrong. _Something_, for Merlin's sake. He couldn't exactly tell them the truth.

Both looked troubled, but they relented. Easily changing subjects, Ron began to chatter away about the latest Chudley Cannons match, which soon started a friendly debate between him and Seamus. Hermione might have questioned further, but was distracted by Lavender Brown, who sat on her other side and was asking her opinion on something girl-related that Harry instantly tuned out. Satisfied that he was off the hook – if only for the moment – he set about concerning himself with nothing more important than food. God, he was starving…

Reaching for the nearest serving of boiled potatoes, preparing to heap them onto his plate with a generous helping of gravy and some kind of meat, he was momentarily distracted as something tapped his arm lightly.

Startled, he looked to see a small paper shape fluttering down to rest on the bench next to him. It was folded to have wings and a triangular head. Curious, he picked the thing up, turning it in his hand to realise in amazement that it was a tiny paper dragon.

Ron peered over his shoulder. "What's that?" he asked through a mouthful of food.

Harry opened his mouth to respond that he had no idea, when the little dragon suddenly flicked its wings once, twice, and abruptly unfolded, returning to its original form of a simple piece of parchment. Across it flowed six words in elegant, slanted handwriting.

_'I want to do that again.'_

Harry stared at the message in surprise, stunned by the boldness. Instantly, of course, he knew who it was from, but couldn't bring himself to look up or even anywhere in a certain blonde's direction.

"Blimey, who's that from?"

Returned to reality by the redhead's astonished exclamation, Harry quickly whipped away the note, shoving it into his pocket. He looked up at his friend guiltily, wondering how he could possibly explain Malfoy's blunt statement.

Ron was gaping at him incredulously, having read the message over his shoulder. On his other side, Hermione's eyebrows were climbing.

"Uhm," he said again, intelligently.

"Is that where you were last night?" the witch suddenly hissed, leaning in closer.

Harry stared at her, uncomprehending.

She coloured, gesturing vaguely. "I mean… were you with someone…?"

Ron snorted with laughter, turning away.

Then he understood, and felt his face heat up. Oh Merlin. They thought… they thought he was _sleeping _with someone? They thought Malfoy's note was from a girl! God, he shuddered to think what those two assumptions implied…

"I – no!" he choked out immediately, the blush he wore belying the hasty denial.

Ron looked both sceptical and impressed at the same time. He was staring at his friend with new consideration, his expression one of surprise. "Harry, you could have told us if you were seeing someone, y'know…"

Dismayed, he shook his head frantically. "I'm not!"

Hermione's hand clasped his wrist, drawing his attention. She turned concerned brown eyes on him, her cheeks still faintly pink. "Oh look, this is none of our business, I know, but… I mean, you _are _being careful, aren't you…?"

"_Hermione_!"

"And who is she?" Ron chipped in, elbowing him in the ribs. "Why don't we know about her? Is she in Gryffindor?"

"Ron, don't pry," the witch insisted, shaking her head and tutting. She added, in the same breath, "Although I am a little confused as to why you didn't _trust _us enough –"

"I'm not seeing anyone!" he hissed angrily, lowering his voice as others nearby began to catch wind of the hushed disagreement. "Don't you think you'd know if I was?"

The redhead shrugged. "Then who's the note from? And what, exactly, would they like to do again?" He was giving his friend a look that said, quite plainly, _There, get out of __**that**__ one_.

And Harry couldn't. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't dig the hole deeper, and no particularly convincing lies were springing to mind any time soon. So he floundered, shaking his head in wordless, helpless denial – determining, all the while, that he was going to _kill _Malfoy.

Ron rested his elbow on the table, smirking and looking quite satisfied. "I _knew _it!" he said triumphantly. "So _that's _where you've been sneaking off to all those nights."

"But I'm not…" He trailed off as it became obvious that neither of his companions were listening any longer, instead occupying themselves peering around at each House table, trying to determine which one his new 'girlfriend' sat at. Harry sighed irritably, looking away in exasperation.

In doing so, he found his gaze drifting toward the Slytherin table. Taking advantage of his friends' distraction, he cast a pointedly annoyed look at Malfoy. The blond simply raised an eyebrow, looking completely unflustered by anything that had occurred in the last few hours, whether that be waking up unclothed and unwashed on Lupin's floor, or having his private – but thankfully unsigned – note read by both Weasley and Granger.

Draco Malfoy, truth be known, was even slightly amused. He'd watched from the corner of his eye as the Golden Trio gossiped animatedly after the arrival of his little message. He'd seen the red flush spread across Potter's face and even heard his scandalised squawks from halfway across the Hall. He could only _imagine _the conclusions being jumped to at this moment in time…

Happy with his small form of revenge – in retaliation to the undignified situation he'd woken in, which was somehow to be blamed on Potter, of course – Draco resumed his meal with a satisfied smirk fixed firmly in place.

xxx

Harry waited near Remus's hut for the arrival of the others. Once again he'd assumed his new form, revelling in the fact that he _could _do it again at will. He'd already decided that he was definitely going to tell Ron and Hermione about it soon enough, although he was holding off for the moment. If he was really going to be repeating this odd little gathering, he felt he should probably maintain _some_ kind of privacy. But as soon as the full moon was over, he'd tell them – and also hopefully sort out the ridiculous theory that he was sneaking out to be with some girl.

He had, of course, wondered why _Malfoy _had been the one to ask for a repeat performance. Harry knew well enough that _he'd _enjoyed it – barring the part when he woke up – but he'd assumed it was all the same to the blond. And considering that Malfoy seemed determined to wallow in denial – at least, according to Remus, who had admitted to Harry that he was trying to talk some sense into the Slytherin – running in a pack wasn't the best way to convince oneself that one was normal.

Merlin, he'd just referred to himself and the blond as part of a _pack_.

Giving a short huff of annoyance, he gave up trying to figure it all out and instead stretched and yawned. His body clock was screwed up. He felt like it should be the middle of the day.

Waiting didn't take much longer after that. Within minutes he was joined by the two werewolves and Fang. It struck him as odd, for a moment, that he hadn't seen Remus as a human for several days now, but here he was with him.

This time they slinked around the edges of the forest until they reached the far side of the lake, generally hidden from view of the castle and its occupants. Malfoy, as prissy as ever, in Harry's opinion, refused to come near the still, black water. In fact, he sat back and watched disdainfully as Fang splashed about in the shallows, soon to be followed by Harry, who was getting quite caught up in the idea of canine behaviour. Remus sat a little apart from his younger companions, watching them tolerantly, and occasionally casting glances out over the rest of the grounds, checking they remained alone.

Glancing up, Harry caught sight of the white wolf a little distance away, his head cocked to one side. The Gryffindor could practically see the sneer of derision he'd be wearing; almost hear the drawling question as to what Harry thought he was doing, acting like he really was an animal.

He wanted to explain, but couldn't. Wanted to try and put into words how… liberating this all was. It was new and strange and made him feel uninhibited, such a difference to how bored he'd been of late. And generally, he didn't care if he looked like an idiot.

And so they went on like this, Draco as haughty as ever and Harry happily embracing 'pack life'. Again they raced and fought, this time around the banks of the lake. The high point of the night, in Harry's mind, was as they were pelting along side by side, and he'd thrown himself sideways into the wolf. Malfoy had, of course, lost his footing, and toppled into the slightly muddy water, to emerge seconds later growling and sneezing, his silver fur sopping wet and slightly discoloured.

He'd paid for the stunt during several small fights, when the blond did his best to scratch, kick and shove as painfully as he could. But Harry had received the punishments laughingly, still amused.

xxx

This time, at least, they'd had the forethought to leave out blankets and pillows scattered across the floor, so that Draco would be spared waking up in the same state of undress. The werewolf had curled himself up under them, much like Remus, while Harry returned himself to normal and simply grabbed a pillow.

Like before, it was light streaming through the window that woke him. He blinked himself awake a few times, reaching up to rub his eyes. He didn't feel as exhausted as he had the previous morning, and wondered if they'd slept in longer this time.

Still, he thought, a few more minutes sleep wouldn't kill him. Yawning, he moved to turn on his side, away from the invasive morning sun.

But for the second time in so many mornings, Harry froze. Oh, this was not happening _again_! For Merlin's sake!

But sure enough, he found himself trapped by a weight atop him he was unaccustomed to. He lifted his head to look down at himself without moving any other muscle. Blonde hair obscured his vision.

Malfoy wasn't particularly heavy, he was just… inelegant, in sleep. And that made him harder to shift. Once again, limbs were arranged without care, the blanket hopelessly tangled around him. He'd abandoned whatever pillow he might have been using, instead replacing it with Harry's midriff. A pale arm was thrown across the Gryffindor's hips, fingers grazing the top of his jeans.

This was ridiculous! What the _hell _was Malfoy playing at? This was not normal! Admittedly, very little of the interaction they shared was remotely normal – but _this_…

This couldn't keep happening. Was the Slytherin really that desperate for human contact that he'd throw himself across anyone who lay still long enough? Once… once was understandable… almost. Once was just a rather embarrassing incident that could be blamed on sleep. Twice? Twice was the beginning of a pattern that made Harry too uncomfortable for words.

This was _Malfoy_. Slytherin git extraordinaire. Vindictive bastard that had only defected to the Light side because he was forced to. Absolute prick who'd been a constant torment for over five years now. Oh, and werewolf, if that counted for anything.

_Not _someone Harry liked to find himself in this position with. Continuously!

He thought through all this motionlessly, wondering, as he lay there, if Malfoy would wake up if he simply rolled to the side and let the blond collapse on the floor. Probably, he concluded after a while. Damn.

The Slytherin in question, as if sensing the intent to escape, suddenly decided to tighten his hold. The hand on Harry hip grasped at his jeans, using the belt loop there for purchase, and he settled himself more firmly across the Gryffindor's stomach. Quiet sighs, not loud enough to be termed snores, came in steady rhythm.

Harry closed his eyes tightly. Too weird, _too weird_! In desperation to be free, he considered simply shoving Draco away and bolting. Maybe the blond would be too dazed to realise what had happened. Maybe–

Be sensible, he told himself sharply in annoyance. This was not the Great Escape, this was extracting himself from a sleeping boy. It wasn't that hard. After all, he'd done it before, he thought with exasperation.

Thinking this, he did as he'd done the first time, grasping the other's wrist and – after a brief struggle to gently undo the grip on his jeans – lifting it away. It was only a matter of slipping out from under the Slytherin after that, which he promptly did, even backing away from him for good measure.

No, this definitely couldn't keep happening, Harry told himself as he collected his wand and glasses, which had been left lying nearby the night before. Which was a pity, because he was enjoying the night time runs with the two werewolves and Fang.

But some things really weren't worth it.

This, for example, was just too weird. There were no two ways about it. This was Malfoy, and waking up with him like this – even if it was only three mornings out of a month – simply wasn't an option. If it was anyone else, he wouldn't have held it against them, but he firmly drew the line at intimate sleeping positions with his long-term enemy.

Thinking that last phrasing over incredulously, he shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thought from his mind forever.

The point was, he couldn't do this again. Even as he shut Remus's door behind him and began the walk back to the castle, he was still on edge and distinctly uncomfortable. A blush still coloured his face and his skin was still unnaturally warm where he'd made contact with the Slytherin.

No, definitely not worth it…

xxx

It was Draco's turn to receive a note, this time while he was with Pansy and Blaise some hours later, lounging outside beneath one of the trees near the lake. He was tired, and didn't have the energy for much else other than staring at the rippling surface, occasionally glimpsing the shadow of the Giant Squid and frowning as he remembered Potter pushing him into that water. It had taken a whole forty minutes in the shower this morning before he'd felt clean again…

These were the idle thoughts running through his head when he was interrupted by the arrival of what looked like a hastily made paper aeroplane. It landed in his lap, the pointed nose crinkling slightly.

Pansy automatically made a grab for it, but he snatched it up before she did, holding it away from her.

She smiled innocently. "What? I thought it might have been for me."

Rolling his eyes, Draco hauled himself to his feet, moving to stand a few feet away from his friends before opening the note and eyeing the brief line of scruffy handwriting.

_'Can't make it tonight. I have a date.' _

Blond eyebrows rose sharply for a few seconds before lowering in a frown. Dismissively, he crumpled the paper into a ball and thought about replying tersely, something along the lines of, _I don't recall inviting you_. Or maybe a sarcastic, _So miracles __**do**__ happen_.

But no, that would only encourage this rather tasteless correspondence. Looking around, he saw no sign of Potter anywhere on the grounds, and told himself that was a good thing. Pansy and Blaise would be watching him, and they'd know instantly who the note was from if he stood glaring at the Gryffindor.

With a quick _Incendio_, he tossed the crumpled paper into the air and walked away as it disintegrated as ash on the wind.

Besides, he didn't particularly want to do it again, anyway. Potter's absence made no difference at all…

xxx

Harry watched the blond receive, read and destroy his little plane from his spot in the window of the Owlery. A date, he's said in the brief message. Hah! He'd be lucky to find the time and patience to date anyone, and wouldn't have thought of the excuse if it hadn't been for Malfoy's original note causing his friends to jump to conclusions.

Absently, he stroked Hedwig's snowy feathers, wondering dispassionately if Malfoy cared whether or not he'd be there, and if the Slytherin would be out somewhere on the grounds tonight, without Harry.

Not that he cared, he told himself resolutely – fully aware that he was lying to himself, but not really sure why.


	18. Unwelcome Discoveries

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 18**: Unwelcome Discoveries

xxx

Harry dreamed.

And like any hormonal, adolescent boy of his age and disposition, he usually dreamed of sex. To put it bluntly. It was never anything specific. No names or faces, which sometimes used to annoy him, but it was something he'd grown used to. The scenes that played out in his head were generally nondescript, focusing on sensations rather than the person he fantasised about.

But this was different. Had any part of him been conscious and aware at the time, he would have known it was going to be different from the start.

It began with running. Once again, he was suddenly alive and exhilarated and he couldn't _breathe _and it was amazing. He was pelting through darkness, unable to see anything but the creature he raced against, who seemed to flow along beside him effortlessly, sleek silver fur rippling with the movement of sleek muscles. There was no sound beyond their breathing, which came in heavy pants, and the pounding of feet and heartbeats.

He didn't know what would happen if he slowed, but doing anything other than pushing forward wasn't an option. Somehow, though, it was impossible for him to take the lead, no matter how fast he ran, and really, he wasn't sure what he would have done if he could.

So together they ran on, and Harry loved it.

Then without warning, there was a snarl from the wolf beside him, the sound angry and vicious, and then _teeth_…! Suddenly it was upon him, all graceful movements gone, only strength and fury and pain. It bit at him, again and again, and it wasn't so much the wounds that scared him, but the uncertain knowledge that something terrible would happen now that he was bitten…

He struggled and fought back, frightened and furious, closing his own jaws around anything that came within reach. He drew blood and felt the other draw blood. He cried out with pain, then felt satisfied when the other did the same. They grappled and twisted and rolled, flashes of black and white, both smeared with red.

The change must have been subtle, since it barely occurred to him at first. One moment he knew canine ferocity, all matted fur and the taste of blood and mingled growls and teeth, and then they were human and falling together, still tangled and fighting with the same rules. Skin on skin, nails raking along flesh, earning a growl of pain from one of them, though which he didn't know. Teeth at his throat, biting down hard and it _hurt_, but there he was turning his head aside and allowing it, _wanting_ it…

Warm breath against the newly inflicted wound, and then lips, barely touching, trailing upwards. His fingers reaching up to tangle in blond strands, pulling harshly, until he was met with icy eyes.

Kissing, then, and even that hurt. All wet heat tinged with the taste of copper; teeth sharp and unrelenting; tongues being forced forward invasively. The entire thing a fight.

It was sexless, really. This wasn't about love or even lust – it was release. The term 'making love' was laughable – this was making _fire_; wild and painful and beautiful, and so unbelievably intense... It was freedom and fury and fire, nothing more and never anything less.

The fact that this was anything but vague when it came to his partner didn't matter – at least for the moment. Revulsion and hatred only seemed to spiral between them, combining with the heat and the pain and the want, all of it summing up into utter _need_.

Delicate hands of the other were touching him roughly, soft skin at odds with their strength, hurting, but _oh God _it felt good, and don't stop, ever, and he was going to–

Harry woke.

xxx

And so the last night of the full moon passed by, signalling the end of their waiting, but by then the collective dread among them had never been so strong.

Horrified by his own dreams and still more than a little unnerved by the way he'd been woken up twice now, Harry had no idea how he was going to pull off this upheaval of the DA with Malfoy as a partner if he couldn't even look the blond in the eye anymore. The nice, uncomplicated rivalry they'd shared seemed a thing of the past to him. It was something he longed for, instead of this unspecified, apparently one-sided awkwardness that now existed.

The Gryffindor was even beginning to wonder if he should just cancel the whole idea concerning the DA. After all, he'd told no one yet but Malfoy. And he just _knew _how much effort he'd have to put in if he was ever going to convince his friends to go along with the plan. Was he up to that fight? Did he even have good enough reasons for starting it?

And besides, what was it all for, anyway, other than to end up spending hour after hour in unbearably close quarters with Malfoy…? Merlin, maybe he really _was_ a masochist…

Shaking his head in exasperation at that thought, he sighed resignedly. No, this was ridiculous. He'd started this for a reason, so he'd damn well go through with it. And as for the Slytherin… Well, it was just one dream, probably brought on by how disturbed he'd been to find Malfoy sleeping on top of him that morning.

Yah. That was it.

Meanwhile, oblivious to all of this, Draco sulked. He wasn't _aware _of sulking, not really, but he did. In fact, he'd been sulking ever since Harry sodding Potter had had the audacity to… to _ditch _him! The indignity was unreal.

It wasn't that he'd particularly _wanted _the Gryffindor around. No, it was that _he _hadn't ditched _him _first. This set the standard! This implied that Draco was the one seeking the company of Boy Wonder – and had been rejected! It was unacceptable.

He'd stayed in his room for the third night of the moon, telling himself firmly that he'd decided to stay in even before Potter's presumptuous note. What really annoyed him, though, was that he'd spent the long night hours prowling around his empty rooms, chafed by the enclosure. It killed him to admit he wanted to be outside with Lupin and Potter. And that bloody dog. So, in true Malfoy fashion, he didn't admit it, instead deciding to set up camp on the west bank of denial.

Even when he heard the sharp burst of a wolfish howl some time after midnight, and found himself resting his front paws up on the windowsill, scratching open the curtain to stare out at the black outline of the forest – even then, Draco convinced himself that he preferred his precious isolation.

Around the same time, alone in his private quarters near the Potions lab, Severus sat wakeful, eyeing the thick textbook open before him and the pile of similar books stacked up beside it on his desk.

Sleep didn't seem to be coming – not that he'd tried very hard – so the alternative was research. Research on this ridiculous farce of a plan.

Each of the books in front of him contained detailed information on the intricacies of mental magic, including Occlumency, Legilimency and even some of the more obscure talents. He'd gone so far as to look into wandless magic, but hadn't found anything useful for their specific purpose.

Sighing, he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, absently pressing his hand lightly against his ribs, which were still sore, despite the copious amounts of Skelegrow he'd forced down. Poppy accused him of being a hypochondriac, still complaining about injuries that had been healed days ago. Hmph. What did that woman know…

But lingering phantom pains were the least of his worries. Now, with the full moon over and done with for another month, there was no time to lose in beginning the process of making Lupin into a spy. They'd have their first session as soon as possible, which would involve nothing more than Severus learning the landscape of the werewolf's mind.

That was only one of the things that made the task ahead so odious. Legilimency was noted for being an exhausting style of magic. Even though it would be quicker than using Occlumency, it would still take session after session for them to get anything done that was remotely helpful. Which meant prolonged exposure to the ex-Marauder, as well as countless visits into his thoughts and memories. The very idea repulsed the Slytherin.

Severus, in studying mental magic, had learnt the many dangers. He'd seen what could happen if a person lost themselves in another's mind. He'd seen friends come to hate each other after discovering things they'd rather not know. But, he did have to admit, he'd never heard of a case such as theirs, in which the individuals in question hated each other with the same force as he and Lupin did. Bitterly, he wondered how that would affect the proceedings. If friends separated over too much information, how were they, as enemies, going to cope?

But then, he supposed, there wasn't much that could lower his opinion of the other man any further…

xxx

Remus made his way reluctantly down the dungeon stairs, and through the dark, dank corridors that led to the Potions lab and Severus's private rooms. With every step he seemed to slow, fidgeting anxiously with whatever small items were in his pockets, the buttons on his robes, the strap of his watch. Anything to delay the inevitable.

This, he was convinced, was _not _going to work. What had he been _thinking_, agreeing to this invasion of privacy? And Severus! _Severus_, of all people! Had he been hit in the _head _when he'd started this?

These were the thoughts going through his mind as he approached the door behind which waited the Potions Master and lifted his hand to knock as lightly as possible.

Despite this, however, there was barely a pause before Remus heard the click of the lock and a very irate looking Severus appeared, glaring at him for a second before reluctantly stepping back and granting him entrance. He stiffened visibly as the werewolf passed him.

There was – again, inevitably – an awkward silence once Remus hovered uncertainly inside. He'd been here only once before, and hadn't exactly been in his right mind at that time. He barely recalled anything from the incident, other that Severus slamming the door in his face. He'd never noticed the unsurprising colour scheme of the room; green and black. Or the particularly comfortable looking couch near the wall. He did a double-take upon seeing the lit fireplace nearby that made even this dark room look warm.

Tutting at himself, he shook his head. What had he expected? That Severus really did live in the cold, dank, stone-walled dungeons, like the students said? The man _was _human, after all…

"Are you going to stand there much longer, or are we going to get this over with?"

Severus's voice prompted him into motion. He started toward the couch, but was stopped by another impatient order.

"The floor, Lupin," snapped the Potions Master, sweeping past. "Sit over there." He gestured to the rug in front of the fireplace, waiting for the werewolf to awkwardly lower himself into a sitting position before taking his place opposite.

"What are we –"

"I need eye contact," Severus explained testily, taking out his wand and placing it in his lap for the moment. "And you'll find the floor provides less of a fall than a chair."

"Fall…?"

"Legilimency is a taxing process for both participants, especially when prolonged. You'll understand when we're through. Now, if you're done…?"

Remus paled, repressing the urge to resume fidgeting with any little object that came into reach. "What, already? As in… now?"

The other man sneered, rolling his eyes. "Well, we could stop to have tea and biscuits, but I assumed we both wanted this over and done with. It's not exactly a pleasant experience, Lupin. I'd rather not drag it out any further."

The werewolf sighed. "Oh, very well. Yes. I'm ready." The flinching expression he wore belied this, but Severus paid it no mind. In a flash, the Potion Master's wand was in his hand and performing the necessary flicks and jabs.

"_Legilimens_!"

A gasp escaped Remus and he reeled backwards with the sensation of something striking him between the eyes…

xxx

He felt detached from everything for a mere moment in time. It couldn't have lasted more than a second, but the second seemed to stretch on and on. It was something Severus had long grown used to; something that had terrified him the first time he'd felt it, and even now unnerved him still. There were no boundaries around him, no protective, confining barriers. There was, quite literally… nothing. Nothing to keep him in place, to keep him together. He was merging with everything, his thoughts blurring at the edges. His mind was no longer his own; his body left behind. He was floating, lost beyond the physical.

But as quickly as the sensation had descended on him, it lifted again as he felt his mind settle into a single being. Returned to the safety of a confined mind, a set space for him to inhabit without dispersing into nothingness, he cast his senses outwards, exploring.

This new, temporary world was alien, and he quickly disliked it. Lupin's mind was far different to his own, every thought alight with nerves, sparking with agitation at his presence. He caught flashes of them, disjointed and vague.

…_Severus of all people… Don't think about anything bad… test set for next week… Harry… Harry has Lily's eyes… same Animagus form as Sirius… don't think about Sirius… don't think… _

Severus wanted to roll his eyes at the werewolf's pathetic attempts at deflection. Did he really believe that this litany of useless facts would hide his secrets? Hardly. Though it did give away some interesting things already. So Potter was an Animagus? An unregistered one, apparently. What a delightful piece of knowledge…

Attaching himself to that, Severus dived. It was like swimming. That was how he liked to imagine Legilimency, anyway. So he submerged himself deeper, following the trail of thought concerning Potter and this Animagus business.

Quickly, he came upon the memories. From the blackness of Lupin's mind that he'd swum through, it was like emerging into a pocket of air that was a scene played out as if in a pensieve.

Night. Lupin as a werewolf, just transformed. Loping out onto the grounds, rounding the corner of his hut to see the others. Two of them. One silver in the moonlight, the other black as shadow. Green eyes staring back at him, instant recognition.

The Potions Master observed the fleeting images with no small sense of shock. But he wasn't staring at the green-eyed dog, but instead the silver wolf. Draco. That was Draco! Why was his godson with Potter and Lupin?

Vaguely alarmed, he thought nothing about rushing on to the next memory, following the threads that linked this scene to the next.

He watched them running. All four of them charging through the forest, fighting and barking and racing, with Potter and Draco at the head. He saw Lupin, the elder alpha wolf, keeping a tolerant eye on his makeshift, ragtag pack. In particular, he gaped and could do nothing at the scene that played out before him, of his godson and the Boy Who Lived… _playing_, for lack of any other dignified expression, in the shallows of the lake; water spraying and mud-matted fur and, in the midst of it all, Draco howling at the moon…

He reeled away from the memories, finding them at odds with his own justifications. Draco didn't _want _to be a werewolf! He didn't embrace it, like Lupin did! That was what made the two different!

But this… He couldn't accept this…

Furious, he directed the anger at the only logical target: Lupin. Forgetting all professional ethics and reasons for being there, Severus grasped at the first thread of thought he found and tore along it. He sensed the werewolf's alarm skyrocket, felt it like electric currents in the black water around him, but he ignored the sensation. Random snippets of sounds and pictures flashed by him, totally unrelated as he chose unconnected paths, determined only to invade the privacy he'd promised not to, if only in payback.

_"James! I've got detention with McGonagall for a week now because of you!" The sheepish expression of James Potter, shown through the eyes of the adolescent Lupin. _

_"No thank you, Minerva, I only take sugar with mine…" _

_Full moon. Changing, and __**Merlin**__, it hurt! Bones shifting, breaking, growing. Blood pounding in his ears. Everything hurt. Didn't matter, though, as long as he could hunt… He needed to chase something, to rip into it and tear and bite and consume… _

_"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry –!" _

_Sex. This time rushed and inelegant and slightly painful, but always perfect. Warmth and afterglow and Sirius, the two of them whispering together, laughter rumbling quietly in his chest. Perfect… _

_"Don't call him that, Sirius." A reprimand. _

_"If I'm capable of helping you, I'll do it whether you like it or not, Mr Malfoy." _

_Pain. A loss so great he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't live. Helpless, useless __**want**__. Loneliness that went deeper than anything he'd ever known. Ripped away so fast he couldn't even cry out, not in those first few days… _

_Hogwarts library. A fourteen year old Severus Snape sitting three tables away, Remus Lupin blushing as he stared over the top of his Transfiguration textbook, embarrassed by his own fascination, but entirely unable to look away–_

Finally, Severus screeched to a halt, frozen in the memory. Stunned, he glanced between the images of himself and Lupin, mystified by the implication of this particular scenario. Surely not…

But, in the background, the werewolf's alarm had turned to mortification, which simmered steadily all around him.

Half amused, half horrified, Severus released the spell, and was catapulted from Lupin's mind, back into his own, just in time to see the other man slump backwards in exhaustion.


	19. The Challenge

**Title: **Life's A Bitch

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 19**: The Challenge

---

Harry couldn't believe he was in this situation. The situation of 'pleading' through a portrait to a sulking werewolf.

"For God's sake Malfoy! Get the hell out here!"

"Fuck off, Potter! Maybe I have better things to do!"

"You do not! You've done nothing but mope for weeks."

"So?! I've changed my mind. I don't want anything to do with your Fan Club."

About to let loose a string of insults, Harry forced himself to stop. This was useless and getting him nowhere. A far more effective solution would be to at least confront the blond face to face.

"Lilith, can you please let me in?" he asked the painting politely, smiling for good measure.

"Don't you _dare_ –"

Too late, the portrait swung forwards, muttering giddily to herself. A pissed off Slytherin was left in her wake, hips slung to one side and hand resting there haughtily. Harry barely repressed a snort of laughter, trying to remember the last time he'd seen such a girly pose.

His amusement died as the blond jabbed him in the chest with a pointy finger. "Kindly _cease_ exploiting your odd relationship with my portrait, Potter!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever. We had a deal."

Malfoy shrugged. "Like I said, I changed my mind."

Mimicking the obnoxious show of nonchalance, the Gryffindor replied easily, "So? You still have to show up, so you might as well do something useful for once."

The Slytherin sneered. "I don't see why."

Finally losing his patience, Harry reached out and grabbed the other's robes, yanking him forcefully into the hallway. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, "Close your eyes and think of England, for all I care, just come on!" before proceeding to drag the highly indignant blond in the right direction.

"Unhand me, Potter! I mean it, get the _fuck _away from me! I'm not doing it! I'm not! I –"

---

"– can't believe I'm doing this…"

Harry sighed and cast an exasperated glance at the Slytherin, who had yet to shut up. From the moment they'd arrived at the Room of Requirement, alone for now, he'd set eyes on a conveniently placed desk – but wasn't everything convenient in this place? – and perched himself upon it, crossing his legs beneath him and propping his elbow on his knee. Sulking.

His wand hung loosely in the hand not supporting his chin, forming lazy circles in the air that made smoke rings drift from the tip. A bored gaze followed their progress upwards.

Again, Harry turned away, resuming his pacing. They were awaiting the arrival of the rest of the DA, and Harry was nervous. He knew this wasn't going to go over well. Some of them might even quit, and those that stayed would be, at the very least, distrustful of the whole situation. After all, he was, in effect, allying himself with Malfoy. He was _trusting _the stupid prick, even _relying _on him. He couldn't exactly blame his friends for being sceptical, could he? The idea _was_ ridiculous, when he thought about it–

But no, he stopped himself from once again going down that path, before he had second, third or even tenth thoughts…

"Can't you sit still?" the Slytherin suddenly drawled, startling him. "You're making me dizzy."

"They're all going to hate this idea," he shot back, totally irrelevant to what the blond had actually said.

Draco scowled. "Yes, well I can see how wearing a track into the carpet is going to make them _love _it…"

"Do you _live _to be unhelpful…?"

"I do try."

The Gryffindor sighed and raised a hand to rub his eyes tiredly. "I haven't even told Ron and Hermione…"

Grey eyes rolled in annoyance. "Merlin, Potter, you're making too big a deal of this. Trust me, the only part of your big explanation they'll hear or care about is the bit where they get to hex me in the name of 'training'. They'll adore you even more than they do now, and wonder what new _spectacular_ talent you used to get me to agree to this…"

"Hmm. Maybe."

The Slytherin made some dismissive noise and returned to watching his smoke rings.

They were silent for a few moments, before Draco mused innocently, "Well, either that… or they'll think I _Imperioed _you, Weasley'll attack me, you, being the hero, will jump to my defence, and we'll all go down in a rain of curses… But, y'know, hope for the best and all that."

"Oh God…"

---

Draco had never been good at Divination, and Harry supposed it was just as well. Both of his 'predictions' were inaccurate. For one, the Gryffindor doubted his entire audience could _adore _him any less right now. And secondly, Seamus and Ginny had dived on Ron before the redhead got too close to the Slytherin, so the rain of curses had also been avoided.

Just.

Currently, Harry looked out helplessly at his hostile audience. Malfoy, ever unhelpful, lounged nearby on the table, one leg swinging idly as he examined his nails, seemingly unconcerned by the goings on around him – though he'd started badly enough when Ron first lunged at him. As if to make up for that slight slip in decorum, he'd spent the long minutes afterwards making sure everyone who saw him noticed his blatant lack of concern. He sat safely behind Potter, protected, for the most part, from the hexes that waited on Gryffindor tongues.

"Surely Dumbledore can't _still _expect him to be here!" Hermione protested, for maybe the third time. "Not after what happened, I mean…"

Harry sighed. He was finally going to have to take a stand, he realised, and this was the point he might lose the support he needed. Still, it had to be done.

"Malfoy's not here because the Headmaster told him to be. Well… not _just _because. I asked him to come."

Hermione couldn't seem to respond to that, and, next to her, Ron groaned and covered his eyes. "Harry, mate, you're killing me here!" Meanwhile, the rest of the DA began to mutter worriedly to each other.

The Slytherin in their midst raised his hand as if they were in class, and called out, "For the record, I was all for never seeing you people again."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry muttered tiredly, though he was largely unsurprised. The Slytherin had come in here determined not to be cooperative. To the rest of the gathering, he tried to speak calmly and concisely, clinging to his act of leadership. "I realise… well, that this isn't a popular decision, for the moment, but I think, if you hear me out, you'll understand that… well, that –"

"Oh, get a backbone Potter!"

Harry whirled on the blond, green eyes narrowed.

Malfoy looked unconcerned. He finally deigned to move himself, hopping lightly off the table and brushing imaginary dust from his designer-faded jeans. It had come as a shock to learn that the Slytherin owned more than one outfit of muggle clothing, though less surprising to note they were just as expensive as any of his robes.

They glared at each other for a moment, the Slytherin with his hips slung to one side and arms folded, the Gryffindor with clenched fists at his sides.

"No one was talking to you," Harry growled.

"Well, if anyone had any sense, they _would _be. Your usual inspiring speech is a little wet. Tell them the basics and let's get on with it! What kind of teacher are you…?"

The Gryffindor frowned. "What?"

"When was the last time you heard Professor Snape stammering because he thought we might not like the particular lesson that day?"

"Are you comparing me to Snape?!"

Malfoy sneered. "You're not nearly good enough, Potter. What I mean is that you're – _apparently ­_– the teacher here." His scepticism was obvious. "For Merlin's sake, show some authority, much as the thought frightens me."

"I'm not going to _demand _they listen to me –"

"You shouldn't have to! You should expect it!" The Slytherin shook his head in exasperation. "You're not supposed to be their friend right now, Potter. That problem would be why you need me in the first place. Merlin, you nearly died last week because you were being their _friend_, and had to rush to their defence, instead of being a duellist!"

Draco hadn't known he'd felt so strongly on the matter until he realised he was shouting.

Harry stared at him, taken aback. "Malfoy –"

Hermione suddenly stepped forward, approaching the pair somewhat hesitantly. "Harry, is it really necessary for him to be here?" It wasn't a criticism, this time, but a genuine question. She stared up at him solemnly.

He thought about all his justifications and reasoning. As cold as it sounded, he needed his friends to be scared. He needed to take all this seriously, instead of thinking of it as a social group. They needed to realise that Death Eaters wouldn't use spells like _Expelliamus _and _Wingardium Leviosa_. Malfoy could show them that. He was the closest they had to a Dark wizard, and Harry intended to use that for all it was worth.

"Yes."

She stared at him for another moment or two, before nodding decisively. "Okay. I _really _hate to agree with Malfoy, but we asked you to teach us. We should trust you." Her dark eyes slid toward the Slytherin, turning colder. "But he should know what to expect if he tries to curse you again."

Malfoy smirked abruptly, making a show of looking her up and down, almost as if he were checking her out. "Hold your horses, Granger. Potter hasn't told you the fun part yet."

She blinked, turning to Harry. "What's he talking about?"

Again, the Slytherin spoke up before the subject could be breached tactfully, his voice a smug drawl. "I won't be aiming for your Golden Boy this time. I'll be aiming for everyone else." His eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry might have thought he was just playing his part if it hadn't been for the glimpse of ice-white. The Gryffindor shivered, and tried not to doubt his course of action yet again.

"You stay away from her, you git!" Temper roaring back into life, Ron suddenly towered over the blond.

Draco met his eyes squarely, and responded, "Dead."

The redhead's anger flickered for a moment, to be replaced by bemusement. "What?"

Harry had already seen the motion, and hadn't stopped it. Now he quietly observed the scene which was slowly becoming obvious to everyone watching. The Slytherin's wand, which had been tucked into a denim pocket only seconds before, was now aimed from the hip at the centre of Ron's chest.

"Dead, Weasley. If this was real, you'd be dead." Calmly, he lowered his wand and glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "I got here just in time, Potter. Dumbledore's Army is in poor shape." He was grinning.

The Gryffindor sighed and – as would soon become a habit – moved to place himself between his best friend and the infuriating Slytherin. He spoke to his audience with growing confidence. "This is why he's here. Malfoy says I act like a friend instead of a teacher, and he's right. I can't teach you to be afraid of me when we duel. He can. He can show you what a real threat is, like he just did Ron."

They were staring at him with trepidation. Ron, still confused by what had happened to him, blinked silently. Only Hermione wore a vaguely encouraging expression. She stared at her friend with wide eyes, realising, for perhaps the first time, how seriously he took all this. Draco was smirking.

Harry went on. "If you're here for fun, feel free to leave. I won't hold it against you, though Hermione's contract will still apply. If… If you're really here to prepare for what's coming, Malfoy can help. _Will _help."

In the front row of the gathered DA, Neville and Ginny stared with something verging on amazement. Neville had never heard the meek, bespectacled boy he'd shared a dorm room with for six years speak with such conviction and passion. And in defence of _Malfoy_, of all people…!

No, not really, he thought seconds later. Harry was fighting for the good of the DA. He thought this was the right thing to do, obviously. And Neville had never trusted anyone more than he trusted Harry. Despite the fact that only Professor Snape and his Gran frightened him more than Draco Malfoy, he found himself nodding wordlessly along with Ginny.

No one moved, and Harry fought the urge to sag with relief. They weren't abandoning him. They trusted him.

The Slytherin twirled his wand between aristocratic fingers. "Right, Potter. Who do I curse first?"

Ripples of alarm went through the students, and Harry had to close his eyes with exasperation. No one said Malfoy would make this easy…

---

To some extent, Draco had been right when he'd said the DA would welcome the chance to hex him with everything they had. Though hesitant at first, confidence and resentment from years' worth of bullying had soon peaked. Draco had wandered the room, watching the others duel, and eventually picking someone at random. Sometimes he'd warn them, sometimes not, before casting a spell. Twice he'd caught Weasley in the back with particularly malicious hexes that Granger had rushed to undo. The third time, to his surprise, the redhead had successfully deflected, before retaliating with something Draco was glad he'd ducked.

But most of his victims were useless. Longbottom, when faced with the tip of his wand and the intent to do damage, instead of just torment, had actually whimpered and thrown his arms over his head. Draco hadn't even had the heart to complete the curse. He's simply turned away with a disdainful sneer, rolling his eyes.

Mostly, he'd just evaluated the other students, trying to see how much magic Potter had managed to teach them. Weasley and Granger, he hated to admit, were the best of the lot. Surprisingly, the Weaselette and Loony Lovegood weren't bad, either. But after that, the level of talent had swiftly descended.

They were clueless, every one of them. Dull and unaware of anything that went on around them. He remembered with fresh conviction why he'd always despised these people. Merlin, he was more self-aware by the age of nine! His father had made sure of it, and that was something, at least, he could be grateful for.

So it wasn't with the greatest of hopes that Draco looked to the future. He was stuck teaching these slow-witted morons who would probably take one look at a real duelling field and turn tail. Potter was naïve if he believed anything else, and fighting a losing battle if he thought he could change it.

Draco was certain to make sure the Gryffindor knew this after the meeting had ended, voicing his cynical opinions persistently.

"…and do not get me _started _on Longbottom! What exactly do you expect me to do?! I'm not a miracle worker! The prat shrieked at me. _Shrieked_, Potter."

Harry sighed. "He didn't shriek. And I thought he reacted pretty quickly…"

"He reacted by ducking! What good did that do?!"

They were walking along the corridor leading away from the Room of Requirement, the last two to leave. It was past ten now, and most students were in their common rooms.

"That's what you're for," the Gryffindor pointed out. "If you can get Neville Longbottom to look you in the eyes and mutter a decent curse, your job's done."

The blond snorted. "You realise I don't plan to do this for the rest of my life? 'Cause that's how long it would take for that to happen."

"Just… try not to terrify him too badly."

"That's the biggest challenge yet…"

They were approaching the junction where the staircases led up toward the Gryffindor common room and down toward Draco's room. Without warning, Harry felt uncomfortable. For some reason, he suddenly found himself thinking of The Dream, and for the life of him couldn't get it out of his head.

"Just so you know," the blond was prattling on, "next time, I could do without you storming into my room and _hauling _me –" He stopped, looking curiously at the Gryffindor. "Potter?"

Harry realised what he must look like. With the unwelcome thought of The Dream, he'd felt his face heat up with embarrassment and was completely incapable of meeting the grey eyes. He'd even put distance between them by edging sideways.

"I'll, uhm, see you tomorrow I guess. In class, I mean." Still without raising his eyes from the suddenly very interesting floor, he practically fled up the stairs. Only when he reached the top did he turn to look once, fleetingly, at the perplexed Slytherin. "Oh, and… thanks."

Draco raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he watched the skittish Golden Boy disappear around the corner on the upper landing.

He'd never understand Gryffindors.


	20. Love and Hate

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 20**: Love and Hate

xxx

Draco stared intently at the board, wondering how he was going to make his next move. The older werewolf opposite him watched calmly over steepled fingers, his soft brown eyes oddly calculating. The Slytherin scowled. When they'd started this game, he'd thought it already won, but Lupin proved a better strategist than he'd given him credit for.

Finally, with a sigh, he reached out and moved one of the white chess pieces.

Immediately, Lupin smiled and used one finger to slide his own black queen three squares forward. "Checkmate," he murmured.

Draco scowled, unused to losing. He sat back in the cushy chair he'd perched on, reaching his hands above his head in a stretch. He'd arrived at the little hut – which was more like a cottage, really, he was coming to think – wearing pristinely folded school robes. But with the heat from the fireplace, he'd finally given in and hung them on the hook near the door, and grudgingly found himself much more comfortable in jeans and T-shirt.

"So did you lose your temper?" Lupin asked, continuing the conversation they'd held throughout the game, concerning the DA meeting two nights previous.

"Not particularly," the blond answered truthfully. "I argued with Weasley a bit, but not enough for it to show." He meant the wolf. "Besides, Potter no doubt would have stepped in if he noticed anything."

The professor smiled. "That's good. You're controlling your reactions, even in stressful situations. Well done, Draco."

The Slytherin looked unimpressed, lounging against one of the arms of the chair. "Stressful?" He smirked. "As Potter put it, I get free licence to curse as many of those idiots as I want. That's not stress. That's target practice."

The werewolf stared at him. "I don't think you're taking this as seriously as –"

"Oh I know, Merlin, _I know_. We're preparing for war, and all that melodrama…" He shook his head, looking at the ceiling in an apathetic fashion.

Remus frowned, but knew it was useless trying to discourage such flippancy. "You and Harry don't seem to be as antagonistic these days," he commented instead, changing the subject.

Draco looked at him sharply, almost alarmed. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, the mere fact that you managed to _cooperate_, even teach others, would suggest that the pair of you are calming."

The teenager scoffed. "Well, we're not," he said stubbornly, then realised how childish that sounded. "He's still a prat, I mean."

Remus hid his smile by standing and heading for the copper kettle near the hearth, carrying it over to the table where a couple of chipped cups waited. "Would you care for some tea?"

"You always ask me that. I always say no."

The older werewolf smiled. "It's polite to ask." He poured himself some of the hot drink and added milk, before returning to the fireside armchair. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you back here this weekend."

Draco hesitated. It was enough he was sacrificing this evening. He wasn't particularly fond of giving up his weekend as well. So he lied. "I have a date."

Remus looked at him sceptically. "Saturday _and _Sunday?"

The Slytherin's grey eyes didn't so much as flicker. "We're in love," he said dryly, knowing full well the older werewolf didn't believe him.

Remus sighed, but saw an opportunity to bring up a subject he'd been meaning to discuss. "If I thought you'd take any notice, I'd warn you to be careful about who you date from now on."

Draco, of course, fully intended not to take any notice – but the strangeness of such a warning made him frown at the other man. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Remus shrugged. "You're a werewolf now. A werewolf who has yet to find his mate, I may add."

The Slytherin scoffed, thinking he knew where this was going. "What? So if I go on _one date _it'll mean I've suddenly found a mate? That I'll be stuck with her for the rest of my life? I hardly think –"

"Of course not, don't be silly." Shaking his head, Remus paused to sip his tea before continuing. "No, we only ever have one mate, and I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of choosing. The problem, you see, comes with the fact that we're also perfectly capable of falling in love with others, if we're not lucky enough to find our mate quite promptly."

Confused, the blond scowled. "What?"

"Well, let's be hypothetical. Say you go out with whichever girl it is that's caught your eye. All goes well, the two of you hit it off, as they say, and eventually fall in love. You plan to marry her, possibly have children –"

"I don't _want _children, and I very much doubt I'm likely to fall in –"

"That's not the point. The point is that you're _hypothetically _head over heels for this girl. And then you meet your mate." Remus shrugged, his expression slightly sad. "Well, of course, you have no choice in the matter. Everything in you will be insisting to bond with this person, to stay with them and never separate. To love them. Both you and the girl you originally fell for will be devastated, but there'll be no help for it."

Draco was, by now, staring back with some horror. "But that's like… It sounds like _Imperious _or something!"

The Professor gave an odd little smile, one that was both amused and wistful. "It won't feel like it. It'll feel like the best thing that ever happened to you."

They were silent for a while as Draco thought about this, privately dismissing the idea. He somehow doubted that yet another situation over which he had no control could feel like the best thing that ever happened to him. Thinking this, he glanced over at Lupin. The scorn that had been rapidly accumulating over this thought suddenly deflated at the look on his face. Draco guessed that the other man wasn't even aware he was revealing that much of himself.

"You… met your mate, then?" he asked, annoyed at himself for not putting some disdain into his tone.

Amber eyes flicked up to meet his, slightly surprised. "I… yes. I met him during my first year of Hogwarts, actually. Not that I realised at the time that he'd be my –"

"_Him_?"

Remus blinked. "Uhm, yes. Sirius Black."

Draco's eyebrows climbed, despite his struggles to keep his surprise concealed. "But… I mean, I would have _assumed_… if only for the sake of… of… _reproduction_, that a mate had to be… well…"

Remus had to laugh. He couldn't help it, confronted with the Slytherin's discomfort. "What, female?" he managed to supply through his chuckles. "Not necessarily. You'll find most of our kind aren't much interested in reproduction, as you so clinically put it, for fear of passing on the disease."

"Oh," Draco muttered, intelligently.

Again they lapsed into silence as this latest rush of information was processed. The Slytherin wasn't sure why he was indulging this line of conversation – which, really, had gotten way too personal somewhere along the line – but it had piqued his curiosity. He was interested, in a morbid sort of way. For example, it was a revelation to learn that Lupin was gay – despite the side of him screaming in earnest that he could have lived happily without _ever_ discovering that. And with Black, of all people. But wait–

"Isn't Sirius Black dead?"

Draco regretted his tactless question as soon as it left his mouth, which was an occurrence in itself. Lupin looked at him in shock, seemingly unable to react for a few long seconds.

"I… Uhm, sorry," the Slytherin hedged, feeling sheepish.

"No, that's… that's quite alright. It's quite refreshing to hear it put bluntly, for once. Yes, he died near the end of last year."

"Sorry," Draco said again, though it seemed a habit of manners rather than genuine concern. "So… does that mean you're kind of stuck? I mean…" He cast around, trying to find a clarification that didn't sound too sappy.

The other werewolf seemed to catch his meaning, though. "Does it mean I can't fall for anyone else, now that my mate's been and gone?"

Draco nodded.

"No, I can. I sometimes doubt if it's fair to expect anyone to live up to the standard Sirius set, but… it's certainly possible."

The blond wanted to roll his eyes at such a cliché Gryffindorish expression of sentiment, but wisely kept them lowered in thought. "At least I know that mine isn't anyone at school," he said at length. "I think I would have noticed by now if I was compelled to trail around after one person in particular."

Lupin suddenly smirked, shaking his head faintly. "Don't be so sure. I knew Sirius for five years before it hit me. I even had interest in other people during my stay at Hogwarts. We can be quite dense, sometimes, about what's right in front of us."

Draco scowled. "That's helpful," he muttered, and Lupin nodded absently, sipping his tea.

xxx

When Draco had left, Remus busied himself setting up the chess board again. He arranged the black and white troops in neat rows, before sitting back with a sigh and sinking into the soft cushions. His eyes trailed slowly toward the fire, watching the flickering, dying light of the flames, and his thoughts wandered…

He thought of Severus.

Even now, he could hear the shocked, derisive laugh the other man had barked out upon fully absorbing the implications of the memory he'd stolen. Thinking of it, Remus cringed and sank further into the chair. He'd never seen the man look both scornful and horrified to such a severe degree.

Never in his life had Remus felt more humiliated in the presence of another human being. Not when the Bogart had revealed his worst fear to be himself, or even when the first Howlers had reached the Great Hall after his secret had been revealed in Harry's third year. He was tempted to _Obliviate_ himself, if only to forget the look of mingled disdain and vindictive amusement shown in black eyes.

But as well as the coil of shame that twisted his stomach came the flare of anger that had hidden beneath his skin since the disastrous session. Severus had acted more than unprofessionally. It had cruelly thrilled him, Remus knew, having been linked to the man at the time, to be able to wreak this damage on him in a way he'd longed to do since their school years. True, Severus _had _been angry and confused by the pictures of Draco shown in his memory, but it had been an excuse. He'd practically dived on the chance to take out his barely-concealed bitterness.

With the violent, unwilling awakening of that single memory, and the string of others tied to it, similarly themed, Remus had felt his emotions upend. He could only imagine what would have happened if Severus had remained in his mind a second longer and witnessed the chaos he'd created, as well as the small shred of privacy Remus had managed to cling to. At the very least, the Potions Master hadn't realised the full depth of the crush teen-Remus had once harboured.

He himself had tried not to think of it in the time since his years at Hogwarts. Besides, he'd had Sirius, and felt no real want to remember his doomed infatuation. But now…

It had hit him full-force between the eyes as soon as Severus had rooted out the first of many memories he'd thought he'd buried forever. And it was confusing, and a betrayal, because those thoughts were _still _intriguing, and the boy and the man _still _fascinated him, and a crush was _still _as stupid and hopeless as it had always been! What was _wrong _with him? Was he really so callous he could find himself thinking of someone else so soon after Sirius? And so self-destructive, to be drawn to someone whose hatred for him radiated like heat…

He shook his head. None of it mattered anyway. If common sense couldn't keep him from doing something stupid, surely his own anger and outrage at the man would. He'd agreed to the Legilimency sessions so he could _help_, for goodness' sake! Help Harry, help the war effort, even _Severus_! He'd _trusted _him!

And, in return, Remus had never felt more violated in all his long-suffering, persecuted life.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of the furiously dancing flames. His face slowly became blank as his troubled expression eased away, and he closed off the turbulent emotions he would only ever allow to show in private.

He'd already decided to continue the sessions, as furious as he was. It was for the good, after all, and he could brave Severus's scorn if needs must.

But he could not allow anything else like that to happen again. He couldn't afford to.

xxx

Meanwhile, Draco had returned to the castle and promptly made his way down into the dungeons, heading for his godfather's potion lab. Severus had mentioned in passing that he intended to spend most of the evening brewing, so Draco saw no harm in dropping by. He might even lend a hand, if it appealed to him.

The Slytherin was bored, though he'd never admit to it. Classes finished, homework completed and no DA meetings for another couple of days, he found himself with nothing to do. Pansy was off somewhere with a gaggle of her giggling female friends, and Blaise was currently half-buried under a pile of essays. That was mostly the reason he'd consented to visiting the werewolf; there was nothing better to do.

The Potions Master glanced up with his customary scowl of annoyance when Draco entered the room without knocking. It faded somewhat with recognition, though not entirely.

"Draco," he greeted curtly. "Is there something you need?"

The blond shrugged. "Not really."

The professor blinked and straightened, looking away from the book he'd been scanning. "Then why are you here?"

"Can't I come see you without a reason?" There was a pause, during which the older man stared at him silently, looking nonplussed. Finally, Draco gave a little smile. "I've just spent over an hour with Lupin. I need some Slytherin company."

If possible, the professor's expression darkened even further, and he turned away, glaring into his potion. The younger Slytherin wondered if he'd said something wrong, but for the life of him couldn't think what. Severus _knew _he had to talk to the older werewolf on occasion, if only to stop himself going off the rails. As far as Draco knew, he approved, to some extent…

"You don't like him," the blond stated, though he had, of course, always known that.

"Of course I don't," came the snappish response as Severus sprinkled a handful of pre-prepared herbs into an already bubbling potion. "In fact, I'm surprised you can tolerate him at all, ridiculous man… From what I've heard, you tolerate him quite well." He flashed a glare.

Draco blinked in surprise. It had been a long time since he'd been on the receiving end of that look. Longer than he could remember, even. And he wasn't really sure what it was he'd done wrong. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His godfather snorted and flicked his wand. Though other movements were sharp and fast with obvious irritation, he was still as careful as ever while attending his potion. "I hope you keep in mind, Draco, that the current state of your life is _his _fault, while you're running wild with him and Potter."

The Slytherin stared at him stupidly for a long moment, before murmuring, with equal intelligence, "Y-you know about that…"

The last scrap of temper escaping his hold, Severus whirled on him, eyes flashing furiously. "What are you _doing_?" he demanded, voice cold, quiet and sibilant, conveying his anger so clearly Draco shivered despite himself. "What happened to _fighting _this?"

"What would you have me do?" the blond spat back in defiance, roused to annoyance as well. "I _tried _fighting it, and ignoring it – it didn't work! You didn't even see what it was doing to me! And, if you must know, the only time I didn't feel like I was losing my mind is when I talked to that prat!"

For the second time in so many days, he realised he was shouting without ever intending to.

Severus simply sneered. "I wasn't aware that 'talking' included gallivanting through the forest, or – or _befriending _Potter, for some godawful reason! _Merlin _Draco!"

"What are you talking about? I'm not his… _friend_!" They had both spat the word as if it was something disgusting, which, frankly, Draco thought it was – in reference to Potter, anyway. Now he simply stared incredulously. "He was just _there _the night I went out."

"Why were you outside anyway?"

"Because it helped!" Dammit, he thought privately, realising he'd just echoed Lupin's words without meaning to. "I don't know _why_, so don't ask. It just did." He broke off with an irritated little huff, then frowned. "How do you even know all this anyway? Potter wouldn't have told you, and I would have thought Lupin –"

"You forget I'm a Legilimens. Lupin couldn't protect his thoughts if his life depended on it. _That _much is obvious…" Fuming, he turned away and returned to his cauldron.

"You – you _spied_?" Stupid question, he thought seconds later. It wasn't as if Severus had been a spy for years on end or anything like that.

Without turning, his godfather asked snidely, "And I suppose you're enjoying your place in Dumbledore's Army?"

"Is that something else you stole from someone's mind?" the Slytherin retorted. It wasn't an idea that repulsed him – as it might have done if he had more morals – but it galled him that Severus had access to so much information about him.

"No, that's something Dumbledore deigned to share with me. He also told me of the curse you cast – something _you _neglected to do. It sounded very familiar, I must say."

Draco flushed. No, he'd never told Severus about what had happened, though he should have expected him to hear about it eventually. And there was no reason he wouldn't recognise the curse. He'd invented it, after all.

"It was an accident," he murmured in vague justification.

"I heard," was the dry, unimpressed response. "Irresponsible idiot. That's all you need on your record. Not only a werewolf, not only a Malfoy, the _murderer _of the Boy Who Lived. It would complete the image, wouldn't it?"

Draco glared at the older man's back with exasperation. "He's not dead."

"He could be," Severus snapped, before stopping with a short sigh, seeing them descending into pettiness. "Draco, perhaps it would be best if you came back another time, when we were both in better moods." Still, he didn't turn to look at his godson, and for the while there was a long silence. Then, a few footsteps and the door slammed with enough force to ripple the surface of his potion.

On some level, he could admit that he was being faintly unreasonable. In one breath, chastising the Slytherin for cursing Potter, and in the next furious that Draco was tolerating him. It was Lupin he blamed, Lupin it all came down to.

How he despised that man…


	21. Vanima

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 21**: Vanima

xxx

"_Serpentsortia_!"

The spell was quickly becoming something of a trademark. Once again, the black snake landed on the tiled floor with a soft thud and string of hisses. Other students edged nervously as it reared towards them, but almost instantly another serpentine voice cut the silence. Harry, at Draco's shoulder, was staring intently at the conjured snake and whispering in those sibilant tones of his. The Slytherin listened with almost clinical interest. He'd heard Potter use that talent only twice in all the time they'd known each other, both incidents in the heat of battle. Now, both of them calm, he found himself rather fascinated by the wave of hisses and breathy whispers that fell from the Gryffindor's lips. He even shivered, a little.

Both sets of hisses eventually ceased, and the black body of the serpent turned lazily and coiled itself loosely around Draco's left ankle, perfectly tame.

"What would any of you do," he began to speak calmly, though with a slight sneer that seemed permanently present in this room, "if I cast this spell when Potter wasn't here?"

No one answered. Instead, he was met with hostile, stubborn looks from the majority of those gathered. A few Ravenclaws looked intellectually interested, curious as to where he was going, and most Hufflepuffs were trembling. But the Gryffindors – the biggest number of people here – folded there arms and stared, unblinking. Annoyed, he looked at Harry with an expression that plainly said, _Well? Do something! _

Unhelpfully, Harry just shrugged. He, too, had his arms folded, though his attitude was one of detached interest. Draco had seen that look before. Potter was evaluating him, trying to see how he'd handle this 'teaching' lark.

Bugger that, Draco thought, fighting the urge to flip the Gryffindor off.

Fine then, if no one was going to do anything. They were all asking for this. In a flash, his wand was in his hand and slashing through the air, encompassing most of the room. "_Oppugno_!" The spell, meant to bend the will of conjured creatures, immediately took effect. The snake, which had been twining around him almost fondly, instantly altered its nature. It was moving like a black streak, fangs bared, hurling itself toward its indicated prey.

Harry took half a step forward, opening his mouth to hiss a counter-command, but Draco flung his arm out, catching the Gryffindor across the chest and barring his way. Harry looked at him incredulously, but he refused to acknowledge the blazing green eyes burning into him. He watched the snake move to strike, tense, _hoping _one of those slow-moving dolts would think to react, rather than waiting for Harry to save them. But his wand was still at hand, ready to Vanish the serpent at the very last second if he really needed to.

It looked like he was going to have to. People were scrambling backwards, murmuring anxiously and fumbling for wands, but the snake was fast, and it wasn't a great distance it had to cross. Ginny Weasley let out a shriek as it set its sight on her, and gave a final burst of slithering speed.

Mentally, Draco cursed and raised his wand to stop the attack. He didn't get that far.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The black creature shot into the air, where it hung, suspended as if in a bubble, writhing helplessly in a very confused manner.

Granger had finally taken matters into her own hands, and now shakily lowered her wand.

Draco tutted. "Finally."

Harry, scowling, reached up and knocked away the Slytherin's restraining arm. Though he'd expected it, even wanted it, Malfoy's teaching methods unnerved him. He'd never be able to take a chance like that, even though the danger was minimum. The Slytherin had done it coldly, unaffected by the risk.

Now, though, the blond simply stood back, withdrawing again and allowing Harry to ease the distress he'd so quickly caused.

Sighing, the Gryffindor stepped forward, walking calmly toward the floating snake and reaching out to it. "_Finite Incantum_," and the creature dropped into his outstretched hands before coiling its way up his arm to his shoulders.

"Harry, for _God's _sake…!" Ron gestured helplessly. "This isn't working! He's going to kill someone with this!"

"Oh shut up, Weasley! Try _moving _yourself for once, instead of letting the – your girlfriend defend you!"

Harry turned to glare at the blond, but it hadn't escaped his notice that Malfoy had avoided his usual insult toward Hermione at the last moment. Hn. Maybe this werewolf thing really was making him more open-minded.

"Are you going to let him get away with this?" Ron demanded harshly, his face flushing a blotchy red, as it always did when he got worked up.

Harry shrugged. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked, deliberately being unhelpful, as he had been with Malfoy. If this was going to work, he couldn't have everyone else looking to him for back-up. Besides, Malfoy was _supposed _to be disliked, so it was counterproductive if he tried to calm every spat and argument that broke out.

"_Tell _him!" was the redhead's impatient demand.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, silently counted to three, and then shook his head. "Ron… This is the reason he's here. He _blatantly _has a different style to me, and you all need to know what it's like to face that." He stepped back so he could look at the others. "These lessons aren't just about specific bits of magic anymore. They're about technique, and learning to duel different types of opponents, facing someone who refuses to fight fair, and knowing what it's like to _really _want to _win_, to avoid injury, not just messing about with a mate.

"Malfoy's not a Death Eater, but he's Dark enough to train you in ways I can't."

Whispers exploded from the gathering, some of them not so quiet. Harry caught snippets from all around him. "…_not _a Death Eater?" "Yeah, right." "What's he mean, 'Dark'…?" "…still don't see why he's here."

He supposed it must sound weird; the Boy Who Lived insisting Draco Malfoy _wasn't _a Death Eater, something he'd promoted almost since they'd been first years. It didn't help that he couldn't give proof without revealing Malfoy's new werewolf status and conversion to the Light side.

On the tail of that thought, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe Malfoy hadn't wanted him to announce his newfound faith in him, for whatever perverted reason. Curious, he turned and looked at the blond questioningly.

The Slytherin was indeed staring at him, but with what emotion Harry couldn't tell. Grey eyes revealed nothing, but at least there was no apparent sign of anger.

He turned back to his audience. "Look, I realise no one likes this situation, much less Malfoy – but, to be honest, that's kind of the point." The snake around his neck hissed into his ear, asking him what was going on and why was there so much tension in the air. He ignored it – her – for the moment and continued speaking. "The door is still open to anyone who wants to leave, but… I think this will be worth it, if you stay."

After a while, it was Neville who spoke up, hesitantly drawing attention to himself. "Harry, I-I don't know about everyone else, but when I said I'd stay last week, it wasn't a light decision. I figured it would get harder with… with Malfoy here. But I don't want to leave." He blushed as soon as he'd finished, embarrassed that he'd spoken so much, and in front of the Slytherin.

"Harry, can we talk to you?" That was Hermione, drawing closer to him with Ron. They'd already argued and discussed this situation he'd asked them to accept back in the common room, the levels of their voices going from hushed, conspiring whispers to screaming matches between he and Ron that all of Gryffindor House had witnessed. That had only been the night before last, and they'd come to a truce yesterday, when Hermione convinced the redhead to give the meetings another chance.

Harry nodded, even as he wondered what Ron was going to protest about now. As much as he understood his friend's reluctance and arguments, he was managing to make an awkward situation even worse. God knows Malfoy wasn't relishing his new obligation, the rest of the DA were wary and annoyed by his presence, Harry himself was nervous, but he _knew _it was necessary, known it since the idea first occurred to him. He could have used some kind of support, and at this moment didn't even care which corner it came from. Ron's hot temper and stubborn refusal to cooperate were going to be a problem, he could see it now…

xxx

Draco watched the Golden Trio draw away into a corner of the room. Potter, he saw with some surprise, was looking less than pleased, while the other two wore matching expressions of anxiety. He hid a smirk. So the cracks were starting to show…

What a lovely bit of information.

He continued to watch inconspicuously. For some ludicrous reason, Potter was still wearing the snake around his neck and shoulders. It was a small, lithe thing really – not his best work – and its weight didn't seem to bother him at all. Draco even saw his eyes flick toward it occasionally, and had the odd feeling that he was _listening _to it, maybe even conversing. Didn't it occur to the idiot that it wasn't even a _real _creature he was talking to? But no, he supposed Potter would only launch into a speech about equal-rights for all those 'unreal' snakes out there – or maybe he'd leave that for Granger…

Shaking his head, he broke away from the surreal tangent and cast a glance around the rest of the room. The protective huddle of DA members had dispersed slightly, and now the other teens stood around in groups of three or four, discussing the events of the meeting.

He hadn't expected Potter to announce his belief that Draco wasn't a Death Eater, and so wasn't sure yet what the ramifications would be. Standing alone at the back of the room, he watched and listened, trying to catch mentions of himself and gage the general opinion. They knew he was Dark – had always known that – but Golden Boy's word must count for something, he thought. But what? It was very likely they'd think he'd managed to _trick _Potter, or something equally ridiculous.

Then again, maybe they'd believe the Boy Who Lived had worked his magic yet again, and succeeded in 'saving' him.

He failed to disguise his chuckle this time, earning several alarmed and suspicious glances, but he ignored them.

Being a Malfoy, the first thing that had jumped to mind when he'd hear Potter announce his beliefs to all these people, was whether it would effect his social standing in any way. As the Prince of Slytherin, he'd been fanatically careful to avoid being associated with Potter in these last two months or so. All he needed now was for this lot to get the misconceived notion that he was a 'good guy' now…

Oh, the indignity.

And, of course, there would be nothing to stop this bit of gossip spreading, since Granger's contract didn't ban sharing news that didn't relate directly to the DA with the rest of the school. It would be everywhere in a week that Harry Potter trusted Draco Malfoy. Maybe not like him, but _trusted _him, which was even worse for the Slytherin. He was never going to live this down, if it got out of control.

Well, he'd just have to nip it in the bud, wouldn't he? He'd get to Pansy and Blaise before they heard anything, and tell them – confidentially, of course – that he was beginning a new plot to put Potter off-guard.

He had absolutely no doubt that the rumour of his 'plot' would be round Slytherin House within the hour.

Yes, that would work. Satisfied, he looked back toward the Golden Trio, wishing idly he could lip-read.

xxx

"Why are you _doing _this?"

Harry sighed loudly, showing his irritation in a way he usually wouldn't with his best friends. "I've already told you. Because he can _help _us!"

"No, he _can't_!" Ron bared his teeth in frustration, glaring down at the smaller Gryffindor with flashing pale blue eyes.

Unimpressed, Harry stared back with folded arms, trying to ignore the snake – Vanima – who was asking why she couldn't bite the large creature looming over them. He'd told her no once, but if Ron kept being a prick, he might be forced to walk away, lest he give in to the vague temptation.

"If he cooperates, he could be just as good a teacher as I am." Seeing Ron's eyes fly wide with that statement, he turned to the witch next to him. "Hermione, you _know _I'm right. In the two meetings he's attended before today, he's managed to catch every single person in this room – including me – off guard. The original purpose of the DA was to prepare everyone for the war. Obviously, I haven't done that yet, if Draco can walk in and frighten the hell out of most people here!"

Hermione frowned, but Ron just gaped. After a while, he managed to stutter out, "_When _did he become '_Draco_'?"

Realising his slip, Harry fought down a blush and feigned exasperation. "Alright, _Malfoy _then. But that wasn't my point. Ron, think about it. He could have hurt you when you tried to threaten him and didn't see his wand –"

"I notice you didn't stop him, either! What's with that?"

Hermione placed a hand on both of their arms, trying to calm the two wizards. "You're both shouting. People can hear you."

Ignoring her totally, Harry snapped out, "It was a demonstration I thought was necessary! You weren't taking it seriously that I asked him to help. You're still not!"

"Because I don't understand," Ron answered truthfully, failing to keep the whine out of his voice. "We don't need him, Harry. And no one _wants _him, that's for sure…"

Unbelievably frustrated, Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it. She stepped between them, facing Ron and quelling the angry words on his tongue with a single glance.

"Stop it, both of you. If _any _of this is going to work, we need to be a united front. You know Malfoy would pick up on it if we're not – and whatever you seem to think, Harry, he'd use that fact. Besides, how do you expect the rest of the DA to support Harry, if _we _don't?"

The redheaded wizard went quiet, glaring at her in that way which said he'd lost and he knew it. _How _she could do that with only a few reprimands and stern looks, Harry would never know, but he envied the talent.

"Fine," Ron muttered eventually, scowling. "United front, whatever. But if this blows up, Harry…"

"I'll keep an eye on him, Ron. I know what I'm doing." With an effort, he kept from adding, _I hope_.

Squaring his shoulders, he led the other two into the midst of the other teenagers. Malfoy caught his eye, and he moved to join the blond once again, resuming the lesson.

xxx

With pure force of will, Harry had stopped himself intervening in each spell, curse or 'demonstration' Malfoy felt was necessary, though he'd started to suspect the Slytherin just enjoyed torment. As if he hadn't already known that…

Still, Malfoy proved surprisingly capable at controlling the volatile situations he created. Just like when he'd summoned the snake and set her on the crowd, he kept close watch, ready to neutralise the threat in a second if he had to. Harry was grudgingly impressed, though he'd spent most of the evening on edge, his wand constantly in hand. Sometimes, he'd notice Ron's disapproving looks, but his friend hadn't spoken up again.

Malfoy barely spoke when he taught. He left that to Harry, probably aware that his audience was hostile, and still unwilling to admit he had any real enthusiasm for this. Sometimes, he'd fall back completely and watch as the Gryffindor resumed a somewhat normal lesson, asking if everybody could still cast the Patronus charm, which they promptly did. Immediately, the room was filled with silver light.

Draco, instead of watching the DA, as he was supposed to be doing, learning their techniques, watched Potter instead, with suppressed eagerness. He noticed that the green eyes lit up more than ever when he was explaining something, or encouraging these people who looked to him for help. He looked ecstatic when his class still proved capable of producing Patronuses.

In his mind, Draco put this image next to his memory of the depressed, isolated boy he'd seen earlier this year, and wondered what had changed. It couldn't be these stupid lessons. They frayed Draco's nerves down to a thread and made his temper worse than ever; it was implausible that Potter gained this amount of happiness from them.

It came as a relief to him, and a visible disappointment to Potter, when people began to make their excuses and drift away for the night. Luna left with an airy goodbye, and then only he and the Golden Trio remained. He wasn't sure why he was still hanging around, only that he'd had some vague notion of talking to Harry as they walked back towards the stairs, as they'd done a few nights previous.

Then he cursed himself. What the fuck? When had that thought even entered his head? And how in hell had it managed to stay there without him finding and eradicating it…?

Shaking himself back to reality, he let a sneer curl his lip. There was something wrong with him lately. He was losing his mind, signified by the fact that he was _here _in the first place.

Harry had been watching Malfoy from the corner of his eye, and noticed when the blond shivered suddenly, looking around as if he was only just realising where he was. He scowled, as angry and haughty as ever – but there was something else there, too. Harry blinked, no longer paying attention to whatever Hermione was whispering to him. Malfoy looked… alone.

He scolded himself for being sentimental, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Maybe it was the lack of Slytherin posse that usually hung off his every word with reverence, but which was now conspicuously absent. Maybe it was the fact that he'd actually worked tonight, put _effort _into something – though he'd tried valiantly not to show it – and was now standing to one side without receiving a word of thanks from any of them, while Ron and Hermione tugged at him, urging him to leave without looking back.

"Harry, mate, come on."

The Gryffindor sighed, and gently removed his sleeve from Hermione's grip. "You go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Ron's expression cooled abruptly, and he shook his head in silent disgust, before stalking away without a word. Hermione followed, though she threw him another worried, exasperated look.

The slow drawl rose from behind him once the door shut, where the blond leaned moodily against a wall. "I hardly need you to walk me home, Potter." Draco willed away the angry blush that fought to show through, as he thought about the odd notion he'd briefly entertained moments earlier.

"I wasn't offering," came the quick, mildly amused retort, as Harry took a few steps forward.

"Then why are you still here?"

"Why are you?"

They stared at each other, stalemate, until Harry had to smile wryly and dip his head. God, _everything _was a competition, wasn't it? He opened his mouth to make some such comment, but halted, when a flurry of hisses sounded in the vicinity of the baggy sleeves of his robes.

The werewolf blinked, grey eyes flicking to the source of the noise. "Oh, tell me that's not what I think it is…"

Harry flushed as he raised his arm, gently tugging back the material to reveal a small oval head glittering with black scales resting on the back of his wrist. Vanima flicked her tongue to test the air, then promptly disappeared back into the safety of his robes.

"I thought you Vanished that!" Draco exclaimed before he could stop himself. "You realise it's a conjured creature, right…?"

"I can't Vanish her, she has a name." It seemed a reasonable enough protest to him.

The Slytherin's expression was blank. He shook his head faintly. "How can she have a name? She's only existed for a couple of hours."

Harry shrugged, absently running his free hand over the slim body he could feel under his sleeve, coiled around his arm. "No idea, but she does. Vanima." A thought occurred to him and he looked up quickly. "Uhm, you don't want her back, do you? I mean, I know she's yours, technically, but I figured since you couldn't speak to her…"

Draco's incredulity showed briefly, and again he shook his head, declining. "You're welcome to her. Merlin, Potter, only you would make a pet out of a… a spell."

"Hm. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to."

"Weird," the blonde muttered, mostly to himself. Then, frowning, he added, "Where, exactly, are you going to keep it?"

"Her," Harry corrected automatically, then realised his problem. "Oh."

The dorm rooms were not a good idea. His room mates wouldn't take kindly to a _normal _snake in their bedroom – one that was originally created by Malfoy wasn't even an option. He briefly thought of leaving her here, then discarded the idea just as quickly, not really sure what would happen if he left a live creature here. The Room responded to the thoughts of whatever was inside, and wouldn't open until that thing left. He might accidentally shut the Room off forever if he left her.

There was nowhere else he had access to – at least not private access, anyway.

Draco watched closely as Potter's face slowly fell. He felt an uncomfortable squirm in his stomach at witnessing the display, and the heartbroken little frown the other didn't even seem to realise he was wearing as the green eyes dimmed and lowered to his left wrist, where the snake hid. Over-emotional git.

"What do you think I should do with her? Let her go in the forest?"

Draco grit his teeth together firmly. No, he would not say a word. He _wouldn't_, because the idea going through his head right now was positively the _stupidest _thing that had ever occurred to him _ever_–!

He let out a long-suffering sigh almost against his will, before murmuring, lowly, "I have a private room…"

Harry blinked at him, uncomprehending for a moment. "Are you… do you mean…?"

Draco glared. "Tell her to stay out of the bathroom, to leave alone anything she thinks is edible unless _you_ give it to her, and if she so much as hisses at me wrongly…"

"Why… would you offer that?"

The Slytherin had absolutely no bloody idea, and was currently reminding himself of that fact. What was _wrong _with him? It was as if some temporary compulsion had taken over long enough for him to open his mouth and utter those condemning words, and now green eyes were staring at him as if Harry was meeting him for the very first time.

Resigned and irritated, he held out a hand. "Oh shut up and hand her over, Potter. I don't plan on staying here all night."

Without hesitating, Harry extended his arm and let loose a string of hissing, whispery words that slipped through Draco's mind like liquid. Vanima's reptilian head emerged slowly, then began to slither her way onto the arm that waited to receive her.

"She won't bite."

The sound of the Gryffindor's normal voice startled him. Parseltongue entranced him, he was coming to realise. He listened with fascination, amazed when the snake obeyed instantly.

Returning to himself, he snorted. "It would be in her best interests not to." He looked down at the long black body that gripped his forearm and elbow, tasting his skin with a flickering tongue. He touched a gentle finger to the back of her head and traced a trail of tiny silver scales amid the black.

Harry regarded him curiously. Truthfully, he'd never known anyone to be so fearless around serpents. Other than himself, of course. But then, he supposed Malfoy had to be the Prince of Slytherin for a reason.

"You're not going to do anything to her, are you?" he felt the need to check, earning an exasperated glare.

"God, Potter, I'm unpleasant, I'm not evil. As long as she doesn't try to bite me, we'll be fine."

Still absently stroking his new, partially unwelcome roommate, Draco began walking toward the door, Harry trailing behind. The Slytherin disliked silence, so spoke the first thing which entered his head. "How come the Dream Team aren't as glowingly perfect as usual, then?"

The Gryffindor blinked, wondering if Malfoy was always so blunt, even when being civil. "What, Ron and Hermione?"

"And you."

"Oh. They think I'm going off the rails."

The blond looked up, glancing at him to see if he was being serious. "Don't tell me. Because of me?" Malicious laughter hid beneath his voice, barely concealed.

Harry shrugged, apparently not noticing it. "That's one reason. And they don't know I was learning to become an Animagus. Neither have any idea where I kept disappearing to these last months. Probably thought I was self-mutilating or something daft like that. Oh, and thanks to you, they think I'm having one-night stands all over the place because I won't tell them who my 'girlfriend' is."

Draco _had _to laugh then. Oh the irony, that Potter's friends worried sick over him, while he, supposedly the enemy, knew everything they could have wished to ask.

"It's not funny," Harry insisted, without much force.

"You could always just _tell _them… well, all but the stuff about me. Why haven't you, by the way?"

"Do you care?"

"No. Not particularly."

The Gryffindor gave him a sidelong look and sighed, deciding to think of the honesty as 'refreshing', rather than so painfully tactless.


	22. Never Friends

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 22**: Never Friends

xxx

Draco stirred into wakefulness, stretching amid the tangle of pleasantly warm sheets. With him, something else stirred.

Potter's pet snake, he'd discovered, had the irritating habit of being drawn to body heat. This wasn't the first morning he'd woken to find her curled neatly atop his stomach. Rolling his eyes, he slid the creature off him so she landed in an inelegant pile on the bed, hissing furiously. He was gone before she could think to bite.

He yawned and padded toward the shower. At the very least, the thing was proving to be a very low-maintenance house guest. She was too small to eat mice, which would have left a mess, so occasionally he'd transfigure the odd piece of lint into a cricket, and let her hunt the chirping insects while he was in class. By the time he got back, his rooms were inevitably silent again.

Her Gryffindor owner was proving a much bigger problem. How naïve, Draco thought, that he hadn't expected Potter to be the clingy type. He'd been her every day this week for no other reason than to see the bloody snake. Then he'd sit, sometimes for hours, talking to her in that eerie language of theirs that _did not _make the Slytherin shiver...

At first, Draco had handed the creature over and disdainfully closed the portrait. But then he'd noticed Potter wasn't _leaving _after his dismissal. The prat would sit in the hall directly outside, only breaking his conversation to chuckle or, occasionally, address Lilith. Realising Potter was only drawing all the wrong attention – of Slytherins who knew exactly where his new room was – Draco had reluctantly relented, and allowed the Gryffindor inside for his visits. They didn't talk – after all, they _weren't _friends, no matter what Severus thought – and often Draco found himself vacating his own rooms in search of company, while Potter remained on his couch, hissing away.

The Slytherin had also determined a reasonable explanation for his moment of insanity, which had put him in this ludicrous situation. It was Dumbledore's spell of obedience. It _had _to be. Just as the terms of their agreement said, he'd been compelled to offer his help because he _could_ help, and therefore had to.

There was no other explanation.

The shower offered him the usual warm relief, but for once he refrained from wanking. He'd need all that tension and adrenaline for the match scheduled in a few hours against Ravenclaw. Chang was a good Seeker, now that she'd finally stopped crying every five minutes, and she had herself a vicious reputation among the other Houses. He didn't plan to underestimate her.

xxx

"What time is it?" Ron asked.

Harry checked his watch. "Half eleven."

The redhead grinned and looked eager, cramming another buttered breadroll into his mouth before standing. "We should get going soon, we'll be late."

"Not like you to be punctual," Hermione commented, glancing at him.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, but this is Quiddich. Different rules." He half covered a yawn and got up to follow Ron.

Hermione sighed and quickly shoved a book under her arm to hurry after them. "It's not even as if Gryffindor's playing, Ron. I don't see the big excitement."

"No, but it's a chance to see Malfoy have his ass handed to him. Cho's a brilliant flyer. No way she'll lose to that git."

Automatically, Harry opened his mouth to add his opinion, then nearly choked in an attempt to stop himself. Okay, so now was _not _a good time to re-start the ongoing argument over Malfoy by saying he actually thought the Slytherin was a better player. Ron had become more venomous than ever when reminded of the blonde's mere existence, as if trying to convince Harry of all the reasons they hated him. Harry wasn't sure how to react to this. Though hardly on best terms with the werewolf, even now, he was growing uncomfortably aware that there was no longer the same bitterness between them. He might have thought this one-sided on his part, except that he sincerely doubted Malfoy would have allowed him anywhere near his rooms last year, let alone trust him to remain there alone. Besides, the Slytherin had proven he was capable of being civil when they were alone – something Harry would have laughed at only months ago. And then there had been the nights of the full moon, which were a different experience all together…

He just didn't know how to make his friends see all of this – or even if he should try.

xxx

Cold air bit his skin and whipped his hair around his head. In the sharp, cold sunlight, he knew it gave the impression of a halo. Flexing the fingers of his free hand, he waited impatiently for the formalities to be over.

At the centre of the pitch, Madam Hooch watched Marcus Flint and Roger Davies shake hands as she went about stating the rules. The rest of Ravenclaw stood neatly aligned opposite him, mirroring his own team. He glanced at Chang and saw, with some amusement, that her dark eyes could be just as cold as his own, when she wanted.

So this was the girl he'd heard Potter used to fancy. Draco had never really taken notice of her before now, except to occasionally display scorn for her weepy reputation, as well as being vaguely aware she attended DA meetings. He supposed she was pretty, in a casual, ordinary sort of way, and he knew she was a good flier – good, but not brilliant. He would have thought the Gryffindor Golden Boy would naturally go for someone as unattainable as he was, and of course they'd end up another legendary Hogwarts couple, like Potter's parents, or even his own.

Cho just seemed too… common. She was like a dozen other nice and pretty girls currently attending Hogwarts. Average.

"Mount your brooms!"

Snapping to attention, surprised he'd managed to tune out in the first place, he threw a leg over his Nimbus 2005 – the newest broom he'd brought from home, before the start of school; probably the last gift he'd ever receive, unless Lucius relented soon. His eyes found Chang's and he parted his lips in an expression one might mistake for a smile, if one were blind.

The sharp shock of Hooch's whistle sent them all rocketing into the air, accompanied by a wave of sound from the audience.

At that moment, Draco wasn't to know that the rush of exhilaration and sudden happiness he got whenever he flew was remarkably similar to the sensation Harry experienced. From the audience, however, a certain Gryffindor watched him and frowned. Harry preferred the days when he could glare without complication, instead of noticing horribly intimate facts about Draco Malfoy.

"And we're off!" Seamus cried from the commentator's box. "Beaters Crabbe and Goyle off to a surprisingly quick start – oh! Watch it, Davies, nearly got you there. Quaffle to Slytherin Chaser Warrington, to Montague, can Ravenclaw's Keeper – nope, Slytherin score…"

Ron growled lowly under his breath, and Harry rolled his eyes in response.

"Looks like Malfoy and Chang are keeping a close eye on each other. I haven't seen air between them yet!"

Bit of an exaggeration, Draco thought dryly. Still, he couldn't deny that he and the other Seeker were tailing each other. He tilted his broom handle, dipping lower, and immediately heard the dull rush of air as Chang zipped into place above him. When she sped up slightly, he matched her pace, spiralling around the girl skilfully, showing off.

Meanwhile, his eyes scanned the pitch. It was a grey day, the sky reluctant to shed any light that might glint off the snitch. He sensed Chang doing the same, even as she tried to compete with him, lunging and turning in midair. He indulged her somewhat, falling back when she took the lead, spinning around her, both of them rising and falling in an elegant pattern.

"Ravenclaw scores again! That's 20-10 to them!"

He frowned, but didn't pay it much mind. He usually failed to keep track of scores while he was flying, counting on himself to catch the Snitch and win the game. Anything before that rarely mattered.

His movements were almost becoming lazy as he executed yet another mid-air twirl, momentarily upside down and loving the rush of wind through his hair and clothing. He pulled out of the motion easily, expecting Chang to rise on his left, copying his trick. She didn't.

She'd already veered away and was streaming in the opposite direction.

Harry wanted to scream – preferably something along the lines of, "Arrogant twat!" – but he restrained himself. Well honestly! Malfoy was an idiot! Harry had spotted the tactic almost as soon as Cho began. She was distracting the Slytherin, playing to his ego by giving him this chance for aerial dramatics.

And, being Malfoy, he'd fallen for it. Grabbed the chance to preen and pose for an audience, oblivious to the fact that it made him careless, while Cho had waited for just the right moment to chase the Snitch and give herself a head start.

The majority of the audience were now cheering, urging Cho on. Next to him, Ron was screaming like a madman, pumping his fist in the air. Malfoy looked furious as he descended after her, pressed flat to his broom. Harry clenched his fists and watched, wide eyed, enthralled.

"And Chang's in the lead! Nasty little trick of hers, there – remind me to try it. Still, Malfoy's closing in fast, now that he's _finally _cottoned on. Oh, this could be a close one…"

Shut _up_, Finnegan, Draco chanted in his head. Idiot.

He was drawing level with the other Seeker's broomtail, and could see the Snitch ahead. She was already reaching out for it. Desperate, he put on a burst of speed and spiralled below her, manoeuvring so he flew upside down, facing her.

Startled, she looked down, probably expecting sabotage. Without thinking, he snarled, and watched her expression flicker. She faltered in the fatal moment, and suddenly the Snitch had darted downwards, away from them both.

He broke away from her instantly, swooping after it, not allowing himself to fully realise what she might have seen

_(Fangs?)_

_(Wolf eyes?)_

and instead concentrating on the task at hand. He wouldn't let her manipulate him again.

"Oh! What happened _there_? Nothing the referee saw, apparently, only that Chang just… _missed _the Snitch! And they're off again, Malfoy in the lead this time…"

Harry found himself on his feet next to Ron, anxiety radiating from him. What had the Slytherin just done? Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough… Not for the sake of a game…

Glancing briefly away from the match, Harry turned to look towards the Teachers' box and found himself staring straight at Snape. Odd, that they should have such a moment of clarity and agreement, but Harry suddenly found his suspicions confirmed in the furious gaze of his professor.

Yep. Malfoy was an idiot.

"Ravenclaw now have a 50 point lead, but none of that's going to matter if Chang doesn't catch up to Slytherin Seeker soon!"

Draco grit his teeth and ignored the deafening roar of crown and wind. His breath was swept away from him, catching in his throat and forced from his lungs by his momentum. He was plummeting, pressed so tightly to his broom he suspected he'd have a bruise the length of his chest after this. But it was working. He was gaining.

The tiny golden ball fell and fell until it was barely an inch from the ground, then zipped sideways. Draco followed, accomplishing such a tight turn at least half the audience screamed. He thought of that smugly, and wondered if Potter was among them.

No. Focus. He refused to lose to Cho Chang. He was the better flier, the better player, better wizard. He deserved to win! That the bitch had thought to _trick _him…! Well it just went to show she was afraid of him, as she should be.

Which of them was Potter cheering for? The ex, probably, he thought with a sneer. Bloody Gryffindor bastard!

His anger had come from nowhere, and surprised even him. But right now, there was no time to question its origins, just the opportunity to use it as fuel, which he did promptly. His Nimbus increased to impossible speeds just as Chang managed to close the space between them, and then he was reaching out, impatient and defiant, snatching at the golden prize before veering upwards, silent in his victory.

It took long moments for the spectators and players alike to realise it was over. Finnegan was still announcing scores when he stopped, mid-sentence, and added unsurely, "Oh… and Slytherin just won…"

Then, finally, the reactions came. Noise rose from the stadiums, exultant to one end, bitterly disappointed at the other. He sniffed and looked toward the Gryffindors, taking a moment to look superiorly at Weasley, then blinked in some surprise.

Potter was grinning.

xxx

Ron scribbled frantically on a piece of paper, holding up one hand and presumably counting on his fingers. Then he scowled, tossing the ink stained quill down and looking up at Harry.

"You realise we're drawing with Slytherin?"

Harry shrugged, looking up from the Potions essay he was trying to write. "There's only been two games, Ron."

"Yeah, but I just worked out the schedules. Slytherin go up against Hufflepuff next – and you know what they're like! They'll probably be so scared they just hand over the Quaffle!"

Hermione tutted. "Ron! That's unfair and you know it."

"I'm just being realistic," he grumbled. "Slytherin'll get a massive rise in points, so that means we have to do the same when we face Ravenclaw."

Idly, Harry scribbled out the last line he'd written down. "Easy enough."

"Which means," the redhead went on, carefully, watching his friend, "we'll hopefully be on even ground when Gryffindor versus Slytherin at the end of the year…"

Harry didn't react. Surprisingly enough, he'd already worked out the Quiddich schedule, and knew full well the House Cup would probably depend on him winning over Malfoy. He nodded distractedly, then glanced at Hermione. "How long do we have to make this essay again?"

He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw her smirk, before launching into a speech about what requirements Slughorn had set them.

Ron, meanwhile, fought to reclaim his attention. "Don't worry, mate. You'll fly him into the ground. You always do."

Harry gave a half smile and thought back to the match they'd watched earlier. He wasn't so sure. Malfoy had definitely gotten better since last year. That much was obvious from the tricks he'd performed at the beginning of the game, and then later, when he'd been forced to rectify his mistake with daring skill. Harry had felt for certain he was going to crash when he performed that dive, but he'd been in perfect control all along.

He shook his head. "Dunno. He seemed pretty good out there today."

He hadn't expected Ron's surge of temper in response to such a casual comment.

"Harry, for fuck's sake!" His outburst caught the attention of most of the common room, much to Harry's chagrin. He was grateful to Hermione when she hastily cast a muffling charm around them. "What the hell is going on? Don't think I didn't see you when he won today! Are you… are you and Malfoy _friends_ all of a sudden?"

"I… Ron, for God's… That's none of…" He stammered with indignation and anger, choking on the emotions as he fought to find some retort.

Hermione stepped in before he could find his footing and begin the fight in earnest. "Ron, sit down." He looked as if he might defy her for a moment, but Harry suspected she'd been taking lessons from Mrs Weasley, and one flashing look from the witch returned him to his seat. "This is ridiculous, the pair of you. Stop starting fights where there aren't any."

"But –"

She leaned forward to hiss at the redhead, "Haven't you noticed that we've had practically no trouble from Malfoy – _and _the rest of the Slytherins – ever since Harry started talking to him?"

"Dumbledore's spell," Ron insisted stubbornly.

"No, it's not." She shook her head. Even Harry listened intently now, admitting to himself that he hadn't really noticed the change. "I don't know about you, but I haven't been called anything more offensive that 'Granger' in the last couple of months. Dumbledore's spell certainly wouldn't have included that. He's even stopped tormenting Professor Lupin."

Harry sat back sharply. Was that true? Yes, he supposed it was. Remus had looked permanently on the verge of a nervous breakdown at the start of the year, especially whenever Malfoy was in the near vicinity, a walking nexus of bitterness and anger. Thinking about it now, he had to admit that both of them had calmed, even in each other's presence.

Ron scoffed. "What are you saying? You think this is a good idea? Let me remind you that it's _Malfoy_."

"What I'm saying is that maybe Harry's right in that he can be _useful_. The DA is just one example. Look how much easier it's made life."

They didn't know the half of it, Harry thought privately. There was Vanima, for one, and the nights of the full moon…

Ron shook his head and stood. "I don't buy it, but if no one's going to listen…" He trailed off angrily and stalked toward the boys' dorm rooms.

Hermione glanced at him. "He'll come round. I think he's a bit jealous, to be honest."

"Of what?" he asked incredulously.

She made some vague, encompassing gesture. "He thinks you're becoming friends with him, Harry, and you know how cruel Malfoy's always been to Ron in particular. He's… I think he's scared that… well –"

"That I'll start treating him just like Malfoy does? That's ridiculous."

"_I _know that. It's Ron you need to tell."

Harry scowled and looked down at his essay again. "I'm not going to run around after him," he snapped. "If he doesn't know me well enough by now, what's the point?"

"You don't mean that…"

He sighed. No, of course he didn't. But he still wasn't going to run around offering constant reassurances.

"Anyway," he said sharply after a while, "I'm _not _friends with Malfoy. I don't see what he's worried about." And they weren't friends, he told himself firmly. They were… allies. Nothing more.

No, never anything more, despite the fact that each knew more secrets that Harry felt comfortable with, or the fact that they'd _woken up together _on more than one occasion, or even the fact that The Dream had made its reappearance a couple of times this last week. No. Not friends. At all.

Hermione was staring at him in a horribly knowing way, so he retreated behind his Potions essay, distracting her with a question on the properties of unicorn hair.


	23. Twisted Things

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 23**: Twisted Things

xxx

The moon was growing closer. Remus could feel the wolf growling in the back of his mind as soon as Severus invaded. It fought furiously against its chains, snarling terribly, trying to frighten away the other, unfamiliar presence.

To his credit, Severus didn't retreat, though Remus clearly felt a frisson of fear tainting his thoughts. It was a surreal sensation, to be aware of emotions that weren't his own.

This time, he was determined not to submit his memories so easily. Not that the Legilimens was supposed to be _looking _at his memories, but he'd said that last time, and Remus had learned not to trust Severus Snape.

They'd chosen an hour early in the morning when neither had lessons to attend to. This was perhaps the third session since the first, disastrous 'introduction', and the werewolf was growing used to another invasive presence in his head. Still though, as ever, it unnerved him to feel the other man surging through his thoughts again, returning to the place he'd started the foundations of Occlumency.

Severus had wound the wisps of defensive mental magic like threads, tying and intertwining them with the golden chords which connected Remus's thoughts. It was a pioneering technique, but the man was already proving skilled at it, improvising when he had to and otherwise managing to follow the ambiguous instructions of those who had already tried it. Slowly, ever so slowly, Remus could feel the alien presence of barriers being built up in his mind, guarding all those thoughts which might give him away as a spy. Severus was thorough, he could say that much. The man had even begun to dream up false memories, which were twined into the mix.

They were the hardest to get his head around. The Potions Master had put his first attempt at this into a pensieve, and Remus had watched it, fascinated. How odd, to clearly see himself acting out scenes he _knew _had never happened. But there he was in his mind's eye, narrowing his eyes at an oblivious Harry, hating him, blaming him for Sirius's death, silently planning vengeance–

They scared him, those fake memories. But, rationally, he knew they were necessary, and supposed he should be grateful for Severus's talent in creating them.

He just hoped they were good enough…

xxx

"Draco, concentrate!"

Pansy's sharp elbow brought him back to attention, making him twitch in his seat. Slughorn's droning voice was still going on, probably the reason he was half-asleep in the first place. As much as he loved Potions, the subject had lost a great deal of its appeal when Severus transferred teaching positions. Slughorn's pompous lectures and anecdotes grated on him, now that the novelty of being the favourite of _another _teacher had worn off.

He let out a sigh and glanced around, noticing that for once he had the least notes. He'd have to copy up later. To be fair, though, the majority of the class seemed to share his disinterest. Only Granger was scribbling furiously, determined to save every bit of 'wisdom' that fell from their professor's mouth. He rolled his eyes at her.

"What's wrong with you?" Blaise asked quietly, idly doodling on the corner of his parchment. "Thought you'd be on top of the world, with yesterday's win."

Draco made some noncommittal noise. He _had _been happy, and had proven that at the Slytherin common room last night. They'd drunk and congratulated each other and stayed up until the wee hours, and now he was _tired_. And bored.

And a little worried.

He'd noticed that after the match, when the two captains had shaken hands again, Chang had stayed as far away from him as possible. God, she really had seen something when he'd flown close to her. With the moon so close, he should have known better than to lose his temper in close quarters and a volatile situation.

The question was, would she realise the significance of what she'd seen? If it had been Granger, he'd already have been making preparations to leave the school, knowing she'd figure it out within the day. But Chang wasn't that smart…

At least, he hoped she wasn't.

"Draco!"

Again he blinked and looked at Pansy, only to realise she wasn't the only one staring at him. The rest of the class, as well as Slughorn, was waiting expectantly.

He flushed. "What… what was the question?"

xxx

The end of classes finally, _finally _came, and Draco wanted nothing more than to hide in his room and escape the niggling worry that had set in during Potions. It had grown worse throughout the day, until he was half convinced that most of the school was whispering behind his back, fully aware of his secret.

Common sense told him this couldn't be true. At the very least, it would surely have reached his own ears from the Slytherins, or even Potter's, who would have warned him.

For the moment, things were still under control, he tried to convince himself. With yet another tired sigh, he spoke the password and waited for Lilith to swing forward, then stepped through into the living room.

Potter lounged in a lying position on the couch, his legs crossed at the ankles, with Vanima coiled along his chest. He looked up with surprise when the werewolf entered, guiltily scrambling to sit up. "Uhm…"

Merlin, the Gryffindor was here more than _he _was!

"Potter, this is _my _common room, you do realise? How do you even know the password?" Countering his indignant words, he walked past without much real protest, undoing the buttons of his shirt sleeves.

Harry watched as the blond disappeared around the corner, presumably toward his bedroom (Harry had never investigated that far into the Slytherin's living quarters). Not sure if Malfoy was even still listening, he called hesitantly, "I… don't, actually. She just lets me in."

"Are you kidding?" came the indignant cry seconds later, slightly muffled. "I swear, I'm requesting a new portrait… The security in this place is lacking."

Harry smiled indulgently at the pretentious wording. Then, aware of what he was doing, he swiftly wiped his expression blank. Dammit, he had to keep in mind that Malfoy _wasn't _funny, and he _wasn't _clever. God, how hard could it be, when he'd spent five years trying to tell the prat just that…?

"How long have you been here?" the Slytherin's disembodied voice asked, sounding slightly impatient.

"I had a free period last, so about an hour."

He distinctly heard a snort, followed by a sarcastic, short-tempered, "You could at least let me _pretend _I have some control over whether or not to let you in."

"Sorry –"

Malfoy suddenly made his reappearance. Harry glanced at him, then fought not to double-take. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen him dressed casually before now. Well. He thought he had. Surely he must have…?

The green and silver tie was gone, and the blond hair ruffled where it had been pulled carelessly over his head. Crisp white shirt now untucked and unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealed by the lack of heavy school robes. He held a book in one hand, carrying it with him to the chair opposite Harry, where he threw himself down and propped his feet up on the coffee table between them.

In the Gryffindor's lap, Vanima wriggled questioningly. _Did you know your body temperature just increased? Why? _

Harry ignored her, though with some difficulty.

Grey eyes studied him critically – but then, weren't they always critical? "Don't you ever have anything better to do than sit around here with that creature? I don't think I can recall the last time I sat down alone, Potter."

Harry shrugged, and glanced down at the creature in question. "Yeah, well every time I spend time in the Gryffindor common room, people keep asking if I've lost my mind. It's getting to be annoying."

The blond smirked as he opened up the red hardback about halfway through and balanced it on his knees. "I assume your problem relates to me?"

"Doesn't it always," Harry quipped. "But yeah. They really hate you."

"I should think so. I've spent my school career making sure of that." He flipped a page with one finger, looking entirely unconcerned. "Besides, wasn't that the point?"

"Yes," Harry answered carefully. "It just makes things… stressful."

"There's always the library. The Room of Requirement. Any number of empty classrooms. I'm sure there are other places for you to escape to, and even take your pet."

The Gryffindor tensed. "You can just say if you want me gone, you know."

Again, grey eyes flicked up to meet his, pale and expressionless. "I didn't say that. I'm just wondering why you _want _to be here." He continued to stare for a moment, then calmly returned to his book as if he _hadn't _just voiced the problem Harry had been struggling with for days.

Harry didn't answer – had steadfastly refused to answer that question even to himself – and they descended into the silence that had become almost habit. Because they weren't friends. They weren't. What they were, Harry didn't know, but talking wasn't a part of it. Instead, they sat in silence, avoiding eye contact, while Harry tried not to think of The Dream, and Draco tried not to react to the quiet, lovely hisses from across the room – and, really, wasn't it a twisted thing this was?

xxx

The first weekend of the half term would mark the full moon. Draco and Remus were no longer the only two anxiously counting down the days. Severus kept a steady eye on the date as well, trying to cram in work with Lupin before the moon's proximity made it too dangerous. Harry, too, watched the lunar cycle with invested interest. He'd not yet made up his mind whether or not to go running again.

The week-long holiday immediately after the moon was also a matter of conversation. It was a time when many students were taking the opportunity to visit home, Ron among them. Harry was secretly glad of this, hoping that a spell of separation would ease the growing conflict between him and the redheaded wizard.

Draco was used to visiting Malfoy Manor at half-terms. It was almost a shock to the system to realise he'd be staying in school this year – would probably be staying here until he graduated, horrible thought that it was.

But what came as a far worse shock was the letter he received Friday evening, just as he was about to leave for Lupin's cottage. The impressive eagle owl had deposited it on his bed, perching itself near the pillows and waiting imperiously. He'd recognised the bird, and the handwriting which addressed it to him, but neither had stopped him casting all the curse-checking charms he knew. Only when he was assured the letter was safe did he pick it up.

Reading his mother's words was a harder task than he might have expected. Abrupt longing stabbed at him, and suddenly he was a first year all over again, homesick and upset. She asked him to come home, just for a little while, she missed him, and his father honestly had nothing to do with the request.

He wondered which possibility hurt the most: if she'd taken Lucius's side willingly, or if his father had quite literally forced her hand.

Whichever the case, he held no qualms in holding it over the fireplace and incinerated it with a quick flick of the wand, watching sadly as the ashes drifted down to settle on the hearth. "No response," he told the owl, waiting until the bird had departed just to make sure it didn't decide Vanima would make a nice snack, then left his rooms with a dark cloud and his mother's lies hanging over them.

xxx

He was halfway down the stairs that would lead him into the foyer when he heard the hasty footsteps behind him. But, recognising the sound of squeaky trainers, his alarm quickly faded, and he even paused to wait for his pursuer.

"Malfoy!" The Gryffindor's voice was entirely lacking in the usual hostility both of them displayed toward each other in public. Finally catching up, Potter slowed to a jog and then a walk.

"Subtle," Draco commented sarcastically. "But I don't think everyone up in the Astronomy Tower heard you." Honestly, some people had no thought for public image…

"Oh, sorry," was the quick brush-off response, not nearly as concerned as the Slytherin would have liked. "You're going to see Remus then?"

"No, I thought I'd prowl the castle tonight. I'm feeling daring."

Harry looked unimpressed. "Alright, stupid question… Mind if I come with you?" The last came out in a rather tangled rush, and he was reminded of why he'd been placed in Gryffindor House: when in doubt, take a running leap.

Grey eyes slid slowly toward him, cold and assessing. "No _date_ this time?" His tone left no doubt that he'd seen straight through Harry's last excuse, though the Gryffindor had no idea what conclusions he might have drawn. After all, Malfoy surely wasn't to know the real reason Harry had cancelled was that he'd been enormously freaked by their… sleeping positions, was he?

"It didn't work out," was all he replied, however, just as coolly.

The Slytherin's only reaction was to flick light strands of hair from his eyes and tilt his chin in as superior a manner as ever. "Makes no difference to me," he said with an affected shrug. "It's not like –"

Draco stopped sharply, listening. Canine ears could hear what Potter's couldn't, and the werewolf froze with the sounds that drifted toward him. Voices, and ones he recognised all too well.

"Pansy's coming," he hissed immediately, already looking around for some place to conceal them. But the corridor they stood in was bare, with no doors or decoration, and the sound of approaching Slytherins was getting louder as they neared the corner that led to the foyer.

He could not be seen here with Potter, not when they weren't cursing and hexing each other, which was the only acceptable explanation. Worse, he'd already been made late by his mother's letter, and if they kept him any longer he'd end up changing right in front of them.

Potter, ever unhelpful, was doing nothing to extract them from the situation, instead rooting uselessly in the bag he carried over one shoulder.

"Could you please _do _something?" the werewolf tried to whisper furiously.

Green eyes flashed. "Shut up, I _am_." Finally, he started to pull something into view, like a muggle magician with a chain of handkerchiefs, but the thing he held seemed liquid and silvery. "Come here."

"What?"

"Just – Oh, never mind!" And then the Gryffindor had darted toward him, whirling something above his head and around them as he moved. One hand closed on Draco's wrist, spinning him round until he stood face to face with the other boy, whose back was to the wall.

"What – what are you…?"

"Invisibility Cloak," Potter murmured, almost soundlessly.

Draco didn't have the chance to let the shock of his recognition sink in. A few brief thoughts clamoured in his head – Potter had an Invisibility Cloak? They were _expensive_! So _that _was how he got away with so much! – and then Pansy and Blaise wandered into view, their voices low and private.

"He's disappearing so often lately, have you noticed?" the girl was saying, and Draco knew without doubt she was talking about him.

Blaise shrugged. "He's probably in his room. You only notice because he's not sitting around the common room anymore."

She shook her head. "I went to visit him the other day. That portrait of his said he hadn't been in for an hour."

"Pansy, stop trying to keep tabs on him, will you? There are other places in this school. Did you check the library? The potions lab? Draco's a swot, he's probably been doing extra work on the sly."

Harry had to turn his head aside and look away from the wide-eyed indignity on the blonde's face to avoid bursting into laughter. It was a massive effort, and he felt his throat ache from the repressed reaction.

The two Slytherins were drawing closer and closer, and were soon near enough that both Draco and Harry worried they'd walk straight into them. The blond shifted nervously, reluctant to press any closer to the Gryffindor, but knowing they'd have to do _something _or they'd both be discovered in a situation even more compromising than before.

Pansy's hushed voice recaptured his attention. "Actually, I was wondering if it had anything to do with… well, his father, if you know what I mean."

Blaise gave her a withering look. "A first year _Hufflepuff_ would know what you mean, Pans." He sighed and shook his head. "I _was _thinking about that, though. I suppose it had to come sooner or later. This _is _Lucius Malfoy, after all. It only makes sense he'd ask Drake to –"

"Don't say it!" the witch hissed at him urgently.

"I wasn't going to!" he snapped back. "Some of us have more tact than you…" Looking put-out, the dark haired boy fell silent, and sped up his pace with annoyance.

Merlin this was going to be a collision course, Draco thought abruptly. He was stood directly in Blaise's path, and couldn't move for fear the Cloak would reveal some glimpse of him or Potter–

Arms suddenly encircled his waist, taking him by surprise, and then he was pressed tighter against another body than he thought he'd _ever _been in his life. He felt the irrepressible need to shove away, to swear and shout uncontrollably, because _how dare _Potter take this liberty, this… this _thorough _invasion of personal space? His chin rested on the taller boy's shoulder, and from the deep darkness in the back of his mind he could hear the wolf's sly voice urging him to bite in retaliation. This close to the moon, he could probably manage to infect, if he wanted…

He clawed his mind back to sensibility with an effort. No. Good God, Potter was trying to _help_, for once…

"Blaise!" Pansy called after him whiningly, making him stop to wait for her. In silence, Draco cursed his friend and forced himself closer to the wall and the other boy – luckily, oblivious to the glazed expression that was starting to creep into green eyes.

Pansy stopped walking a little distance away from her fellow Slytherin, then spoke in barely a whisper. "What… what do you think about it? If that _is _why he's gone all the time, I mean…"

Blaise took his sweet time in answering, much to the werewolf's frustration. "I… try _not _to think about it, actually," he responded after a while. "It's going to happen to all of us, eventually. Why worry about it yet?"

His words didn't seem to comfort her, that much was obvious. With another sigh, the boy pulled her into a one-armed hug and they continued on in silence, _just _brushing by the invisible pair by a hair's width.

When he could, Draco let his breath out, sharp with relief. _That _had been entirely too close.

Harry felt the blonde's sigh as a shock of sensation, hot breath on the back of his neck, just below his ear, and fought not to close his eyes. He was _not _enjoying this, he told himself. He _couldn't _be enjoying this, because The Dream wasn't supposed to be _true_, damn it all!

Malfoy was turning his head, carefully trying to look at him, and the little puffs of breath touched his jaw now, warm and pleasant, and he was turning to meet them almost against his will.

"You can let me go any time, Potter."

He blinked, and only then realised – to his sinking embarrassment – that he was still clasping his arms around the other boy's waist. He let go as if burned, wide-eyed in the face of the icy blue stare.

"I-I'm sorry, I –"

He didn't get the chance to finish whatever explanation he might have given. Draco suddenly gasped and doubled over, one hand clutching the Gryffindor's shirt in an effort to stay upright. Unable to help, Harry could only watch as the transformation took over. The blonde's tight hold on him dragged him down as the changing werewolf sank to his knees.

He sympathised with Malfoy in a new way, afterwards. Never had he heard the Slytherin scream in _genuine _pain before now – instead of the fake, affected moans he'd once put on for sympathy – but he did then. Alarmed, he cast a silencing spell around them, but there was little other than that he could do.

There was a moment in the following, drawn-out seconds, when Draco threw his head back, wolf-white eyes pinned wide, and Harry saw, with horrible clarity, the viciousness of the creature that lurked beneath the surface. The wolf was free for that brief instant, before the chains of Wolfsbane snapped tight around it. Still, it was enough for Harry to jerk back in fright, realising, for perhaps the first time, the true capabilities of the thing inside Draco.

He witnessed the rest of the transformation in a kind of shocked daze, partially amazed when the wolf that remained looked up at him with clear eyes, despite the fact he'd seen the same twice before now.

When it was finally finished, Harry looked down awkwardly at the torn remains of the Slytherin's clothing. Then, with a sigh, he flicked his wand and cast a repairing charm Hermione had taught him, watching the garments return to their original state. Scooping the pile up, he stuffed everything into the bag which already carried the Invisibility Cloak – all the while imagining Malfoy's haughty complaints about the creases he was making. He planned to deposit the bag at Remus's before changing himself.

"Come on then," he murmured, hoping there were no more students still out and about besides themselves. That's all he needed. Sightings of Harry Potter walking calmly alongside a large blonde werewolf. Oh, he could see the headlines now…


	24. The Power of Observation

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 24**: The Power of Observation

xxx

Remus had been increasingly aware of the concept of werewolf mates. His own wavering loyalty and confused feelings about Severus had pushed the idea to the forefront of his mind – unfortunate, considering the Potions Master had taken seconds to seize the thoughts, scrutinise them mercilessly and laugh at his insecurities.

"You needn't worry, Lupin," he'd sneered at the time. "It would never happen. You can remain perfectly faithful to the late Sirius Black." He'd spat the name like poison.

Remus had to wonder what on earth could be wrong with him that he found himself both despising and attracted to Severus and his cruelty. The last session between them had gotten entirely out of hand, resulting in childish hexes being hailed across the other man's rooms. The wolf had, for once, even come to his aid, eager for the chance to get at the Potions Master, who was the cause of what it saw as Remus's betrayal of his mate. Its fury had given him the burst of speed and strength that had landed Severus on his back with Remus straddling him, snarling, his wand forgotten.

Black eyes had widened in fear for a split second, and then quickly glazed over with contempt. "You're going to take what you want by force now, Lupin?" he'd spat, and Remus, disgusted by the mere implication, and a little with himself, had left without another word.

There was no logical explanation. It wasn't like it was _real _attraction, anyway, he told himself. It was the lingering remnants of a deluded adolescent fantasy, from a time when the other man had been just a little less jaded and abrasive. It was a morbid fascination for something he could never have, and maybe a side effect of the horrible intimacy they shared these days.

Thinking this, he huffed and raised his eyes to the moon, using a hind paw to scratch idly behind an ear. Nearby, Harry and Draco tussled and chased each other, tumbling in and out of his peripheral vision.

In that moment, he was glad he wasn't in human form. His expression would have shown too much. He wanted to smile, but from the heart of him, sorrow bloomed and blossomed.

Never had he been so certain that he was watching another werewolf and his mate.

Neither of them knew it yet, of course, but Harry had always been slow on the uptake, and Draco submerged in denial. Remus saw it. He'd seen it since the first time he'd taken the pair running. In fact, it had been so like a flashback to his own sixth year, with Sirius, that he'd lost himself in memory more than once. Merlin, the strange beauty and familiarity of the situation astounded him. How could this possibly be happening twice, even in the nexus of magic that was Hogwarts…? Especially between these two, of all people – Harry, Sirius's godson and so eerily like the man on occasion, and Draco, who was, for all intents and purposes, his own responsibility. The reflection was impossible to ignore and painful to watch.

So while the two teenagers danced around each other, fighting against the connection he could see was already drawing them together, his own mind was in turmoil. He felt obligated to watch out for them, to guide them if he could, particularly Draco. It surprised him to realise he was growing protective of the younger werewolf, who had few adult allies right now. Lucius Malfoy was a joke of a father, in Remus's opinion, if he could encourage his son to a life in the Dark, and then walk away when the boy declined. Narcissa had evidently chosen her husband's side, and with Severus in his current mood for whatever inexplicable reason, Draco had to be feeling somewhat abandoned. And as a result, Remus could feel every mother-wolf instinct in him rally in response. The boy was part of his pack, as was Harry. He'd treat them as such.

But good _God _was it hard to suppress the wave of envy that rose up in him every time he saw them together. Not so long ago, he'd had what they had now, and _oh _how he wanted it back…

But he wasn't stupid, and he'd stopped clinging to false hope months ago. His mate was gone, and though Remus missed him – would always miss him, to some extent – he had let him go.

Perhaps that was a good thing, he wasn't sure. Minerva said it was a good thing, when they'd last spoken. The only thing that Remus knew for sure was that, without Sirius, he was left with Severus – and _that _didn't seem to be working out very well, right now…

xxx

Once again, the night flew by in a haze of excitement and competition, ending finally when the werewolves and Harry returned to the little cottage in exhaustion, flopping down onto their respective, makeshift beds.

It was a dark morning, even when light finally came, sinking triumphant claws into the grey, wet skies. It rained moodily, chilling the early morning atmosphere. Yet despite the outside cold, Draco was _warm_.

He smiled dreamily, trying not to open his eyes and break the trance of half-sleep he was caught in. The wolf had returned to the back of his mind, sated and safe. For the moment, anyway. As always, he felt like a massive pressure he hadn't quite been aware of had suddenly released. Relishing the comfort, he stretched like a cat, back arching and fingers curling in the sheet thrown over him.

In the same manner Harry had been startled into waking a month ago, Draco abruptly became aware of the very close presence of another person.

The pleasant warmth suddenly became overbearing as he realised, with slow dawning, that he was entangled with another body. And, worse, even without opening his eyes, he knew who it was. Potter's distinctive scent – the oddly mingled smell of boy and dog and rain, not unpleasant – filled his nose, making the wolf utter a tiny, happy growl of recognition before resuming its doze, sinking even further into relaxation. Draco, on the other hand, felt as if every muscle in him had just gone tense.

Potter. He was lying with Potter. Lying _on _him! _What the hell…? _

The Gryffindor snuffled in his sleep and shifted. The arm under Draco's head and around his shoulders tightened slightly, forcing him to restrain a sound suspiciously close to a whimper. Every tiny part of his bare skin that came into contact with the other boy was on fire. Intimate contact. Intimate contact _everywhere_. He could feel the denim of Potter's jeans rough on his leg, which had been thrown over the other's hips. Beneath his hand, the Gryffindor's chest rose and fell steadily and a slow heartbeat hummed.

What _was _this?

Just like before, in the hall near the foyer under the Invisibility Cloak, the close contact unnerved him deeply. He braced himself, ready to push away and untangle himself as fast as possible, even if it meant losing his dignity with Potter waking up and _seeing _this god-awful mess – but abruptly, the wolf in him growled and lurched into life again, protesting any movement he might have in mind. It wanted to stay put, damn it, and was apparently trying its best to make Draco want the same thing.

And Draco might have put up more of a fight, had he not at that moment noticed the sliver of green beneath a splay of lashes, watching him. Potter was indeed already awake and witness to his humiliation. The Slytherin froze up, unable, even, to extract himself from their compromising position.

"P-Potter…" He hated the weakness of his stammer, but even Malfoys couldn't be expected to remain unaffected while lying naked with one's rival.

And _there_ was a thought he'd never get out of his head…

Gaze blurry without his glasses, which lay to the side, Harry glanced down at them and sighed with only vague annoyance. "Again…?" The word was spoken quietly, almost to himself, and wholly muffled by the thickness of sleep.

Blond eyebrows shot up swiftly. Again? What did he mean, '_again_'? "I wasn't aware that this was a _common occurrence_," he felt the need to point out, rather sharply, forcefully ignoring the rising pitch of his voice.

The Gryffindor frowned and closed his eyes against the jarring exclamation, not yet ready to relinquish sleep and comfort. Despite his apparent exasperation with their position, he was disinclined to move from it. Right now, anyway. "Oh," he muttered eventually, in response, suppressing a yawn. "Well it is. Go back to sleep, Draco…"

The wolf yowled and whined in agreement, practically sulking as it sent a bombardment of half-formed concepts at him, pleading with him to lie back and return to the deliciously warm and scented embrace. Similarly, the use of his first name almost felt as if it had been layered with an _Imperio_, and before Draco could really think about the consequences of his actions, he found himself hesitantly returning his head to where it had previously rested.

Somewhere, common sense was shrieking in panic at the back of his head. It demanded to know what he thought he was doing, and that didn't he realise this was _Harry sodding_ _Potter_, of all people, and for God's sake he _wasn't gay_!

The wolf growled until common sense shut up, then settled itself down to rest with its mate.

xxx

They didn't talk about it, afterwards. As seemed to be customary, Harry made sure he was gone before Draco woke a second time, pausing only to leave a tidily folded pile of the Slytherin's clothes before he left. Any potential awkwardness was neatly avoided by the pair of them steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the situation. Privately, Remus tutted and sighed and shook his head, but did nothing to interfere. Neither teen would appreciate it, he was sure…

Ron took his leave Saturday afternoon, with a tight goodbye to Harry and a lingering look for Hermione, probably one he considered subtle. Though Harry caught the glance, he couldn't translate it, and didn't really care to. For all he knew, it could mean anything from Ron finally deciding to act on his feelings for the witch, or a silent reminder for her to interrogate him even further.

With the redhead gone, Hermione clung to him with more persistence than ever. He didn't exactly mind her presence, since she made no further attempts to question him on his previous disappearances, or convince him that Malfoy was irredeemable no matter what Dumbledore said, as Ron had tried more than once now. She did make it difficult to go visit Vanima, though – and it was _only _Vanima he was visiting, he told himself weakly, despite the fact that he and the werewolf actually managed civil conversations these days.

It also made it considerably harder to escape the common room by the time dusk came, in the next couple of days, and Harry could practically _see _the suspicions flying through her head that hinted at any number of wild possibilities for why he was staying out all night, three nights in a row. With Ron, those suspicions invariably settled on a girlfriend as the answer, but Hermione was a different case entirely. And now with the distraction of the redhead gone, she'd be harder to fool and much more likely to notice the specific three nights on which he stayed out each month.

He supposed she'd eventually assume _he _was the werewolf. Was that better than realising he was spending his nights with Malfoy? Maybe, he thought, imagining the way the Slytherin would react if he thought his secret was out…

Besides, he could take Hermione thinking he was a werewolf, if that wasthe conclusion she'd come to. She wouldn't say anything, even if it _was_ true.

xxx

"Where are you going?"

The falsely casual question stopped him in his tracks just outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, bag in hand. He turned slowly to regard the witch who'd followed him.

"I thought you were doing your Transfiguration homework," he commented.

Hermione folded her arms, unimpressed. "I was. That isn't an excuse for you to disappear to God only knows where all night – _again_!"

He sighed. Well, it wasn't like he'd expected her patience with him to be everlasting, she just could have picked a better time. He was going to miss the moonrise if she kept him too long, and Malfoy would only bitch about being made to wait.

Resisting the urge to check his watch, he lowered his bag to the floor and rolled a shoulder. He thought he'd pulled a muscle sometime last night, and it twinged every now and then. "Look, would you mind if we talked about this an–"

"_Do not _say 'another time'! You _always _say that and never mean it!"

He glared. "Hermione, this isn't a good –"

She stepped closer to him and spoke fervently. "It's never a good time lately! I don't think you've talked to me or Ron properly in months! Don't you trust us anymore?"

He opened his mouth several times, trying to decide whether to respond with irritation or reassurance. "Of course I do," he snapped eventually, a combination of the two. "Why would you think I don't?"

She almost stamped her foot. "Because! Harry, we've always shared everything and it just feels like… like you're cutting us out all of a sudden. And I don't understand _why_. I know you said it wasn't Sirius, but I don't see anything else it –"

"It is _not _Sirius!" Genuine anger entered his voice, then. "Yes, alright, I miss him, and I admit it was much worse at the start of the year. But I'm _fine _now, honestly. I am."

"Then why –?"

"Maybe – _just maybe_ – the wizarding world isn't in need of my immediate help this year, and my life _isn't_ on the line for once, and I _like _that I can have privacy, Hermione! No tournaments, no reporters, no visions or plots for Voldemort to attack! I _like _that I can disappear without a dozen Aurors following me for my own safety!" He cut himself off with a short, sharp sigh. "Do you get that…?"

She closed her mouth and nodded wordlessly. He could see a muscle twitching in her jaw.

Harry turned and walked away.

xxx

Hermione watched him go, frustrated and sad. She could feel him pushing her and Ron away, but had no idea what they'd done wrong, if anything. He was pushing everyone away. Even the DA, which last year had been something akin to a social group, had taken a much more serious tone. Harry had brought in Malfoy because he could admit he needed the help and the technique so different to his own. It showed he was willing to neglect comfort in favour of necessity. And though his idea had impressed Hermione at first, to some extent, now she wondered if it was just one more way for him to put distance between himself and those who cared.

Sighing, she made to turn back for the common room, when something caught her eye. Looking down, she saw Harry's bag lying where he'd left it minutes ago. It was too late to call him back, she thought, glancing at the empty hallway.

Crouching, she grasped one of the tattered straps and hauled it up. He had only himself to blame for his carelessness – and his temper – she told herself, shaking her head.

The bag in her hand was half-open, she realised too late, and could only watch as something slid to the floor.

She stared in surprise at the Invisibility Cloak.

This was the moment she needed Ron. He would have been the first to suggest the thing going through her head right now, letting her fulfil her own role as their collective conscience, suggesting everything that was wrong with the idea, how immoral it was, even though they'd end up doing it anyway.

But Ron wasn't here, and his absence gave her a choice. Stay firmly put in her chosen role, calmly return the Cloak to Harry's bag, which she would then leave in the common room for him to find when he got back, and go to bed.

Or, take the Cloak and find out what was going on once and for all.

She chose.

xxx

Harry wasn't hard to find, even with his minute head start. In fact, she very nearly walked straight into him upon nearing the main foyer. Falling back, she watched with some confusion as the other Gryffindor waited around with his back to a pillar, checking his watch. He didn't seem to have noticed the loss of his bag, which was unusual. Was he that distracted?

She heard the second set of footsteps then. Not coming from behind her, from where a student of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would approach. No, the sound came from the other staircase, the one leading downwards, towards the dungeons.

Harry turned then, just as Draco Malfoy entered her line of sight.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't you?" Harry said quietly, and to Hermione's surprise, it was no short-tempered snap or distasteful mutter.

Even more shocking was that Malfoy answered somewhat cordially, saying, "Not my fault. Pansy decided to _chat_."

She watched in astonishment as the blond joined Harry and they turned toward the doors, walking casually side by side as if they hadn't always hated each other, to the best of her knowledge. Hesitantly, she followed at a distance, though close enough to hear the conversation that passed between them.

"She still think you're a… y'know?"

Malfoy snorted. "If you mean, does she think I'm a Death Eater following in Daddy's footsteps, then I'd assume so. Neither she nor Blaise would ever ask me outright. You might have realised we don't have the same glowing relationship as your very own Dream Team…"

"Don't be so sure," Harry replied tonelessly, and Hermione fought not to cover her mouth in horror that he could ever say something like that – and to _Malfoy_, of all people!

"Oh?" The Slytherin suddenly sounded interested and pathetically gleeful. "I _had _noticed you weren't as… inseparable as usual."

"Hn."

They exited the school, and Hermione hurried to catch up, anxious not only to hear the rest of their conversation, but to find out what in hell they were doing together. It was starting to get dark across the grounds, and she found herself squinting to see them.

"So come on, Potter, what's the latest drama?"

There was a long pause, before Harry turned his head to look at the Slytherin. "You, actually. Hermione says Ron's jealous that I asked you to come to DA meetings."

A malicious chuckle escaped the blond. "Weasley has every reason in the world to be jealous of me, and he picks _this_?"

"Don't start."

"It's true. Look at me, I'm –" Without warning, Malfoy grunted and dropped.

As if he'd been waiting for it, Harry caught him easily around the waist, struggling to hold the other boy upright for a moment, before helping to lower him to his knees. Hermione watched in utter confusion.

"I forgot the Cloak!" Harry hissed suddenly, as Malfoy clutched his stomach in pain.

"Well for God's sake, Potter, do something! A silencing spell, at least, before someone sees!" He spoke through gritted teeth, voice harsh and a long way from the self-confident drawl that normally emerged.

Even as the stunned witch looked on, all sound abruptly ceased as Harry slashed his wand through the air. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do, he reached out and clasped the Slytherin's wrist bracingly. Malfoy raised his head and looked at him, wide eyed beneath his silver fringe.

Having secretly read more than enough romance novels in her time, Hermione knew a Moment when she saw one. Her jaw dropped.

Then Malfoy screamed. She knew he did, though she couldn't hear it. Harry never looked away, and didn't let go until he was forced to, when the Slytherin began to change. Hermione bit her knuckle and told herself to stay quiet.

And somehow, she managed. Even when she saw the grey eyes flare brilliant ice-white, even when features and limbs began to lengthen and shift, which she knew must be excruciating, and even when he pitched forward to land on all fours, and silver hair spread in a great ripple across every inch of skin. Even then, she stayed silent.

Hermione was trembling by the time the moon had become visible in the sky and the transformation was complete. The creature that remained shakily gathered itself and rose to a standing position, taller than Harry on his knees. It was sleek and long-legged, pale fur practically glowing in the moonlight. From where she stood, it wasn't hard to see the barely concealed expression of admiration on her friend's face, but found she couldn't really blame him.

Draco Malfoy made one gorgeous werewolf.

Her shock at the multiple implications of that thought was pushed aside, however, as she found herself witnessing yet another transformation. She knew immediately that this was of a different sort, though.

Seemingly satisfied that Malfoy was okay, Harry closed his eyes calmly. A line of concentration appeared between his brows, and before she knew it, something else stood in his place. There were no physical processes to see this time – no reforming of bones and muscle. Rather, her eyes seemed to unfocus of their own accord, leaving her unable to look directly at him, while magic blurred his image. She'd always wondered why books were so evasive about giving an exact description of an Animagi transformation, but now she knew: it was an impossible task, to put something like this into words.

The black dog he became made just as impressive a figure as the wolf.

Neither showed curiosity at these two new forms, and she knew then with certainty that this was not the first time they had been out together like this. Malfoy was the first to turn and head for the forest, twitching an ear slightly with the faint bark that came from that direction. Remus! she realised suddenly. He knew about this! He… he…

Oh God. Staring after the Slytherin as he disappeared into the darkness, it occurred to her to wonder who had turned him in the first place. The only other werewolf she knew was Remus – and instantly that thought brought with it memories of lessons they'd shared this year, when even she could feel the hate that rolled off Malfoy in waves, directed solely at the older man.

Hermione had no idea what could have changed his attitude between then and now, but she had to wonder if it had something to do with Harry, and his abrupt acceptance of the Slytherin.

Thoughts spinning, she turned and walked dazedly back to the castle.


	25. Having Doubts

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 25**: Having Doubts

xxx

Something was very, very wrong and Draco knew it. However, there was no putting his finger on it. The feeling came simply from incidents over the past few days that stuck out wrongly in his mind, whether they be unusual, irritating or nothing more than a bit embarrassing.

He sat at his desk as he thought these things, absently running his fingers along the dark curves of Vanima's body, which was coiled near his right hand atop the homework he was supposed to be finishing off. She stirred and looked at him with blank eyes, hissing lightly and causing him to wonder what she was saying. He wished Potter were here, so he could–

Ah! There! Right there! Draco scowled in perplexity and drew his hand sharply away from the snake. Since _when _had he ever deigned to utter that sentence under _any _circumstances? No. He did _not _wish Potter was here. He never wished that, and it was surely a sacrifice when the prat was. He'd _certainly _never initiate such a casual, civil conversation by asking _what his bloody pet was saying_!

Yet another of the fundamentally _wrong _occurrences that Draco was beginning to pick up on, and wondering why he hadn't noticed before now.

Why in the world had he even offered to home the creature? He couldn't imagine something so out of character for himself if he tried. He didn't _like _Potter, or his ridiculous sentimentality over a _conjured _snake. Besides, he'd sounded prepared to release her into the forest, if push came to shove. It hadn't been _his _responsibility to take her – so why had he _offered_?

And the other night! What the fuck had _that _been? Draco still couldn't quite accept the memory that, upon Potter's suggestion he return to sleep in their entangled position, _he had obeyed_. No! And why had the cursed presence in the back of his head agreed so strongly? That was _wrong_ and Draco knew it.

It didn't end with those two examples, either. They were just the ones that stood out mainly in his mind. But, thinking about it, there had been more than one occasion when he'd found himself consenting to some minor suggestion made by the Gryffindor, even though, last year, he would have refused simply out of spite.

It wasn't friendship. He _knew _it wasn't, despite the idea not horrifying him as much as it might once have done. He wasn't this complacent even with Pansy and Blaise.

Potter wouldn't cast an _Imperio_, he knew. The Wizarding Saviour was too noble for that. Besides, there were other symptom he was sure didn't come from the Unforgivable.

He was becoming… distracted. No, that wasn't the right word. He was becoming… becoming…

Obsessed. Addicted, even.

At first, he hadn't noticed. And then he'd simply refused to acknowledge anything of the sort. But now. Now it was impossible to ignore. If they were in the same room together, he found himself constantly aware of the other's movements. He could be having a perfectly normal conversation with Blaise, and yet some part of his brain was dedicated to knowing that Potter had just entered the Great Hall, and was now walking to his seat at the Gryffindor table, and now buttering toast while talking to Granger. These stupid, irrelevant little facts were driving Draco insane. There had once been a time – oh, how he missed that time – when he'd have been ecstatic to forget the git's whole bloody existence. Now, though, it gave him twinges whenever the Gryffindor left a room without acknowledging him.

When they were alone it was worse, though only ever in retrospect. Wolf senses would flood Draco at those times and he would be overcome by the simple scent of the other boy. There was never anything unnatural about it – no cologne or hair gel or some such product. Always, it was clean and earthy and so purely _Harry_. He was addicted to it, and overwhelmed by it, and sweet Merlin had there ever been anything so _wrong_?

He let out a distressed little huff of breath and buried his face in his hands. Frustration rose inside him and he wondered, detachedly, if he was going to cry.

No, for fuck's sake. He wasn't _that_ weak. Yet.

These thoughts had been plaguing him since the full moon weekend, and it was now Tuesday. Eventually, he'd settled on a somewhat suitable explanation, even though the mere thought made him sick with anger. This, he was sure, had to be the result of the Headmaster's spell. Though the man had worded it to sound reasonable at the time, there must have been a loophole that had Draco acting like Potter's bloody slave. This wasn't just helping when he was called upon. This was… submission. _Unwilling _submission, at that.

He felt suddenly impotent. And though that thought made his cheeks burn with shame, it was the only description that came to mind. He wouldn't go to Dumbledore, and make a fool of himself shouting and screaming in protest, when there was no way to retract his oath of loyalty and servitude anyway. He _couldn't _go to Severus. He just… couldn't. Severus, of all things, despised weakness. To admit to this…

No, his godfather was no source of help right now. Not in this.

What about Lupin? Surprising himself, Draco actually leaned toward that idea. The man would be against the idea of such compulsion, and he was Gryffindor enough and guilty enough to help. And, if nothing else, Lupin understood weakness…

But no. Didn't the werewolf already hold power over him? Slytherin down to the core, it wasn't in Draco to willingly hand over more.

Not yet, anyway. Not until he grew desperate.

xxx

"_Legilimens_!"

Severus heard the other man gasp before the physical world dissolved and another individual's mental world closed around him. He was growing used to Lupin's mind, he shuddered to admit. Once again, the ridiculous defence the man had created after their first session sprung into place, protecting, at the very least, the panicky thoughts he'd given away last time.

Lupin thought of colours. Blue, mostly. Exasperated, Severus fought to extract himself from the pool of colour that, surprisingly, managed to conceal those surface thoughts that the Legilimens had previously found so entertaining. He supposed he could root them out, if he really wanted to, but the effort would only leave both of them with a headache.

Disgruntled, he dived deeper, following the now familiar paths into darker parts of the other man's mind. As ever, the presence of the wolf was never far away. He fancied he could hear it growl hatefully at him from not too far away, snapping its jaws from the surrounding shadows as he fled past.

He told himself he was being irrational. In this world, senses as he knew them didn't apply. There was no sight or sound or smell, merely perception. He was thinking of the wolf as a physical thing, therefore it was acting like one.

Still, it was easy enough to distract himself. Lupin believed that he'd stopped hunting out memories and thoughts during these sessions. The truth was Severus was just more subtle now.

The first time he'd torn through the wolf's mind had been a mistake. On some level, he could admit that now. Really, his actions had been crass and unrefined. In fact, rather like something a _Gryffindor _would do, rampaging through a delicate situation in their anger.

Since, Severus had happily returned to his Slytherin mindset, regretting the brief lapse.

Now, as he flitted through Lupin's mind, he delicately picked at the entwined golden strands of connected thoughts, his touch so light they didn't shiver and alert the other man. Alien knowledge and recollection filled him and was filed away, to be scrutinised later. He didn't dare pause to watch them yet, lest the werewolf realise what he was doing and they once again descend into arguing or – something that was growing steadily more frequent – physical fighting.

He wasn't sure why he was so set on the invasion of privacy. Perhaps it was the ingrained second nature to spy on _someone_, no matter who that person may be. And this entire situation gave him such a perfect opportunity. Maybe it was just that this was Lupin, and, if he was honest with himself, he'd always harboured a loathing fascination for the man, hadn't he?

So on he went, heading for the fortress of Occlumency he was building at the centre of this mind. As he drew closer, he tried to call to mind the name 'Lupin', as he always did, but couldn't. Here, where intimacy was impossible to avoid, it could only be Remus.

The golden threads were a lot like a spider's web, Severus had always thought. He'd chosen the very centre, where the threads spiralled outwards in all possible directions, to base his defences, spinning these in the concentric circles that connected and protected the original thoughts.

Returning to his work as if he'd never left off, he plucked magic from nowhere, or sometimes from his own mind, before making it part of the web. He added more and more false memories wherever he could, sewing in resentment and bitterness into the natural embroidery of emotions. Nothing, of course, was overdone. That would be the biggest trap to avoid. He had to be subtle, exaggerating what was already present, no matter how infinitesimal. A dark undercurrent would be much more convincing than outright, consuming hatred of Potter.

As he worked, he began to examine Remus's stolen memories, which had already become part of his own mind and would set no alarm bells off in the werewolf's head.

It was like watching pensieve memories. Stories played out in third person in his head, himself never quite a part of them, but instead a rapt audience member.

He skimmed quickly over the less interesting ones, seeing the werewolf eating breakfast on his own, marking papers, watching a rainstorm over the lake, teaching at the edges of the forest, talking to Draco the very first night the Slytherin had come to him–

Well, that was interesting. Never faltering in his Occlumency, he started to examine that memory a little closer. In astonishment, he watched his godson scream and rage against the curse that bound him, shrieking in undignified anguish. _I can't, I can't do __**anything**__! It's taking over! Every five minutes I want to kill something! _

Had Draco really said that? Slow, cold alarm filled him – and something else, some creeping realisation that he didn't yet want to acknowledge.

The memory played on, relentless. _It's stronger than me! _came Draco's panicked whisper, as Remus tried frantically to comfort him. And then the boy was crying, so vulnerable in that moment that it was all Severus could do not to freeze in his work, so great was his shock at this scene.

He recalled his own accusations unwillingly, made during the argument between himself and his godson a couple of weeks ago. _What happened to __**fighting**__this?_

And Draco's helpless reply. _I __**tried**__fighting it, and ignoring it – it didn't work! You didn't even see what it was doing to me!_

He hadn't _cared_ to see, had he? Caught up in his own drama of being discovered and hunted, and never really eager to confront reality when it came to the boy's condition, it had been convenientto ignore what was going on around him. Besides… ignoring it meant never having to acknowledge that Lupin – Remus – had actually _helped_ Draco, and in a way that he, Severus, wasn't capable of.

He faltered then in weaving strands of thought and Occlumency together, but quickly recovered while his mind raced.

Yes, true, the bastard had still caused the entire problem in the first place, but at least he hadn't turned away afterwards. The Potions Master had known men – lesser men, he supposed he had to admit – who would have run for the hills rather than face consequences like Draco.

He wasn't yet ready to revise his opinion of the man – not nearly ready for that – but…

He pulled out the other memories he'd stolen with new interest, targeting the ones that showed a teenage Remus Lupin during his own years at Hogwarts. He _knew _that the man must have changed somewhere along the way. Even if he'd somehow gained strength to take responsibility for his actions now, he hadn't possessed that strength back then, Severus was sure. Lu– _Remus _had been a snivelling little coward, back then.

He watched as the younger werewolf went about his average school day, quietly writing or reading while his three friends crashed loudly through the background of his life. Yes, that fitted with Severus's memories of the time. He could just picture the boy sat under a tree with a book, barely existing. Remus had always been outside as much as possible, he recalled, as if clinging to the sunlight.

Lily Evans appeared sometimes in his mind's eye as he sifted through the memories, but he sped past those images like a muggle video fast forwarded. He felt the urge to do the same whenever James Potter appeared, but he was interested in seeing the group dynamics that had surrounded the werewolf at the time, and how he'd reacted.

This in mind, he began to listen to the random snippets of conversation he'd picked up on his journey along Remus's web of thoughts.

_"Hey, what answer have you got for number two?" Potter asked, leaning across a desk to peer at the werewolf's sheet of paper. _

_"None of your business," came the quick retort as the parchment was snatched up. _

_"Don't be so stingy, Moony. You're going to be as bad as Snivellus one of these days." Arrogant as ever, James Potter jerked his chin toward the front of the Potions classroom they occupied, and Severus saw his own adolescent self hunched protectively over their current assignment, alone and scribbling hurriedly. _

_A scowl crossed Remus's face, darkening amber eyes to brown. "You said you wouldn't call him that –"_

_"I did not. Not the point, anyway. C'mon, gimme your paper." He made a demanding snatch for the work, but the smaller Gryffindor whipped it behind his back, out of reach, looking annoyed. _

Another interesting insight, Severus decided. He hadn't known the Marauders were anything other than a well-oiled, perfectly functioning unit, much like the current Golden Trio.

Perhaps he was reading too much into the brief interaction, anyway.

_"Remus," Potter went on, his voice signalling his change in attitude, from light-hearted to irritated. "Don't start this again. You're always in a mood lately –"_

_"I am not!" With the indignant outburst, another of their little group – the traitor, Pettigrew – looked worriedly toward them. Black was conspicuously missing, and with Pettigrew too cowardly to dare interrupt an argument, it seemed Potter and Remus's tempers were about to get the best of them. "I'd just rather not see you become a… a __**bully**__, James –"_

_"Oh, this is __**not **__about Snivellus, __**again**__!" _

_"I –"_

_Another figure entered the scope of the memory in the form of Black. He sauntered up behind the bickering pair, probably having only just arrived late for class, and immediately took stock of the situation. _

_He let a hand fall casually on the werewolf's shoulder. "Oy, Moony, calm down will ya?"_

_Remus blinked up at him, seemingly shocked into obeying by his sudden arrival. _

_"Now," Black went on, casually taking his seat in between the other two, "let's have a look at those questions, yeah?" Without waiting for an answer, he deftly took away the sheet of paper and laid it down between himself and James, and they began to copy out the answers. _

_Possibly because he was only an audience member, suitably distanced from the entire affair, only he saw the werewolf open his mouth in protest, before closing it without ever saying a word, and retreating into unhappy confusion. _

Severus pulled back from the scene being played for him, troubled. It wasn't anything new to learn Remus was the quiet type, easy for his friends to take advantage of, but it had seemed, moments ago, as if he might actually put up a fight. What had just changed to make him so submissive again?

He didn't have time to dwell on the question, however. Now that he wasn't focused on the contents of the memory, he became aware of the dull, strained ache that was spreading along the golden threads, a result of too long an exposure to Legilimency.

Sighing, he released his hold on the Occlumency strands and headed for the surface.

xxx

Remus winced as he felt Severus's presence leave his mind and the full weight of a headache crashed down. He rocked back, resting against the chair legs at his back and covering his eyes, waiting for the scorching barrage of comments that would come any moment now.

"That took longer than usual," he said half-heartedly, when the silence lasted too long, opening one eye to peek at the Potions Master. There was going to be an argument, he was sure. There was _always _an argument, no matter how he tried to avoid them.

Severus had yet to move. He sat composedly, with his hands resting on his knees directly opposite Remus. Dark eyes were closed, and a frown formed between his brows.

"Severus…?"

As if only just reminded of another presence, the man looked startled into waking. "Re– Lupin. You… you may go. Return Thursday, and we'll continue."

Both adults climbed to their feet, Remus with a little less grace. He stared in perplexity at the other man. "That's it?" he couldn't help but ask, sounding, even to his own ears, faintly incredulous. Surely there was something new to torment him about?

"Yes, _that's it_," came the short tempered growl. "Go away."

It said something, the werewolf thought to himself as he closed the door behind him, that this had been the most gracious dismissal he'd received yet.

xxx

Harry jogged easily down the steps that led to the Gryffindor common room from the dormitories, spotting Hermione and moving to join her. He threw himself down into one of the squishy chintzes nearby.

"Are we having a DA meeting this week?" he asked. It occurred to him that perhaps, as figurehead, he should really have more of a say in when meetings were scheduled, but it was so much easier to leave that to her.

She looked up at him slowly, wearing that same odd expression she'd taken on ever since their argument outside the portrait. "If you like," she answered carefully. "There're only a few people gone home for the holidays. Are you and… and Malfoy up to it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why wouldn't we be…?"

"You seemed tired yesterday. And the day before."

"Couldn't sleep," he lied quickly, and so easily that Hermione couldn't help feeling the immediate urge to scold him. What else hadn't Harry told them? If he could lie so convincingly about something this… this _big_, there was no guessing what else he could hide…

But she couldn't exactly jump straight into _that _argument, could she? Not when Harry didn't even know that one secret was out, let alone however many more he kept.

She hadn't had the nerve to confront him. Not yet, anyway. What could she possibly have said? _I'm sorry, after you demanded privacy the other night, I felt the need to follow you and __**spy**__? _

Still, she'd have to breach the subject _soon_. She'd spent the days since her discovery trying to get her head around the situation, and work out some kind of reasoning for why Harry would share such a secret with Malfoy, of all people. Apparently they really _were _friends now, or something close to it, whether they admitted to it or not – because night-time escapades and a secret of such massive proportions was not something one shared with a bitter enemy – but Hermione was damned if she could find a satisfactory reason for _why _they were friends. Malfoy might well have joined the side of the Light, but that didn't change his entire personality – which was surely the only reason Harry could bare to talk to him.

Again it was on her lips to demand he tell her what in the world was going on, but she stayed quiet, painfully swallowing the question.

He was looking at her expectantly. "Hermione? The meetings?"

She nodded, lowering her eyes to the book in her lap so as not to look at him. "I'll schedule it for tomorrow, if that works."

He grinned, and something hurt inside her. When was the last time he'd looked like that? Was it Malfoy's doing, that he could suddenly smile again? But that wasn't _fair_! She and Ron had been there for months on end. What was so special about that absolute _bastard _that made him able to help where they had failed?

"Thanks Hermione," Harry positively chirped.


	26. New Perspectives

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 26**: New Perspectives

xxx

Draco had intended to cancel on the DA meeting when he'd first noticed the Galleon glowing on the mantelpiece. But then Potter had shown up in person, and given him _that _look – confused, imploring disappointment – and he'd felt himself caving, compelled to obey in that same distressing way that he was starting to recognise now.

And so, once again, he found himself standing sullenly before an unimpressed audience as Potter prattled on about some spell or another. Draco had decided he had no idea why he was even needed here, other than being something for Potter to show off and parade about. He could just imagine the Gryffindor knowing full well what he did to him and using it to his own advantage. Honestly, he was surprised there was room in here for everyone else, with that idiot's ego taking up so much space…

But he found himself sighing, and shaking his head. No matter how frustrated he grew, sheer common sense told him that it was too out of character for Potter to take advantage of _any_one like that.

Still, it stung. Was there _no one _who didn't have some kind of power over him right now?

"Draco?"

He snapped to attention, realising with vague embarrassment that the Gryffindor had been trying in vain to gain his attention for some unknown period of time, and now stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"What?" he snapped, ignoring his lapse.

Potter blinked, but didn't comment on his hostile response. He stepped closer for privacy, and Draco realised the rest of the DA had already been set whatever assignment the Gryffindor had dreamt up.

"Is something wrong?"

The Slytherin sneered. "Oh, I'm _sorry_, aren't I showing my sparkling enthusiasm to be here? Or is it that, surprisingly, I'm _not _fawning over your every bloody word for once?"

Green eyes cooled rapidly. "Well, actually, it's that you're being a complete _prat_. More so than usual!"

"Oh, fuck off. What the hell am I supposed to be doing so we can get this over with?"

"Did I _do _something?" Potter demanded. Though he sounded as pissed off as Draco had ever heard him, he kept his voice lowered to a hiss, trying not to allow their temporarily distracted audience to overhear.

Opening his mouth with half a dozen snide replies to that question on his tongue, the Slytherin forced himself to stop and close his eyes. In his head, he counted silently to ten, making an effort he rarely bothered with to control his temper.

When he'd reached something resembling calm, he forced himself to meet the confused green gaze steadily. "After this is done, I need to talk to you." The words wanted to choke him, wanted to falter and trail off into nothing, but he didn't let them.

The Gryffindor's anger retreated, and he frowned in perplexity – no, he frowned with worry, Draco realised, exasperated. He didn't _want_ worry or pity, which would doubtlessly only increase once Potter heard what he actually had to say.

But that could wait.

"Am I here for a reason, or do you just want someone to talk to?" he drawled, signalling the end of this testy conversation. At least for the moment.

Harry sighed, obviously unsure. But he shook his head and seemed to relent, gesturing vaguely toward the other occupants of the room. "Do what you always do. Scare the fuck out of them…"

xxx

Hermione looked around her, and found Luna standing nearby. She smiled and walked toward her, seeing a suitable partner in Ron's absence. But before she could say anything, someone else stepped into her path.

She didn't much talk to Cho as a friend, and was slightly surprised when the older girl stepped closer and asked in her pleasant northern accent, "Can I talk to you?" Before anything else could be said, the Ravenclaw Seeker turned with a flick of her long dark hair, beckoning urgently over her shoulder.

Hermione followed the other hesitantly to the edges of the room, out of earshot of the others. Cho turned to her, and her dark eyes were wide with worry.

"What's wrong?" the Gryffindor asked in concern, frowning.

"I-I wasn't sure… Well, I didn't think anyone would _believe_ me, you see…" Cho started out, turning her head to the side, avoiding Hermione's gaze. "But now with him _here_ all the time, and Harry _trusting_ him…"

"Believe what?" Hermione couldn't quite manage to keep the impatience from her voice, but the Ravenclaw girl didn't seem to notice.

"It was at the Quiddich match. When I missed the Snitch. It was because I _saw _something, and I think… I think…"

The Gryffindor froze with realisation, too late to stop Cho voicing what she said next.

"I think there's something _wrong _with Malfoy." She turned and cast a furtive glance at the Slytherin in question, who was currently glaring narrow-eyed at Harry's back. "As in… dangerous magic," Cho went on, oblivious to the other girl's panicked expression. "When he got angry with me at the game, he looked… horrible. His _eyes_…!"

Hermione reached out and grasped her wrist, tighter than she'd intended to. "Have you told anyone else besides me?"

Cho shook her head, trying and failing to disengage herself. "N-no. Like I said, I didn't think anyone would believe me. But I couldn't stand back and do _nothing_, not when he could hurt Harry. So I came to you. You… you know I'm telling the truth, right?"

The Gryffindor forced herself to nod. "Okay. I'll… I'll talk to Harry. Listen, please don't say anything to anyone else. If Malfoy got word that we know something…"

Cho bobbed her head rapidly, looking relieved that the responsibility was safely on someone else's shoulders.

Hermione felt the bubble of dread that had been inflating inside her finally pop as she realised, inevitably, that she was going to have to confront both Harry and Malfoy over what she'd seen the night of the full moon, so much sooner than she'd ever intended.

xxx

As the lesson ended and the room emptied, Hermione braced herself. Harry and Malfoy had once again lingered behind to discuss whatever it was they discussed these days, and hadn't yet noticed her presence. Their argument seemed to have come to and end, though neither exactly looked pleased. Draco was speaking lowly, his grey eyes hard, when he finally caught her movement in his peripheral vision.

"What do you want, Granger?" came his short-tempered snap when he saw her. "Can't face the long hard walk back to Gryffindor tower alone?"

Perhaps because he rarely paid attention to the witch other than to bicker with her, Draco failed to note the distress she exuded. Harry saw it, however. Almost instantly, with an uncanny sense of intuition, he saw her guilt and her nerves and the tell-tale glance she threw at the Slytherin. His stomach went cold. "What did you do?"

And that was all it took to break what little composure she had left. "Harry, I'm sorry! I didn't think… Well, I didn't know _what_ to think! And when you just walked away from me like that…"

Harry found himself stepping in front of the rather confused blond, not bothering to hide his steadily growing anxiety that would, any moment now he knew, turn to anger.

She went on, voice growing faster in distress. "And you'd just _left _your cloak there. I _know _you, I know you would have done the same thing, even though that's no excuse. So I… I followed you…"

"Oh God…" That was Draco, his voice faint and dreading as he slowly closed his eyes and swayed back to lean against the wall.

Harry just stared.

"I'm _sorry_!" she said again, heartfelt. "I saw – well, I guess you know what I saw – but I haven't said a _word_. But now… There's something else…"

"What more could there possibly _be_?" Harry demanded, incredulous. How could she have _done_ that? he wanted to yell, but the words didn't seem enough.

Hermione shook her head helplessly. "Cho knows there's something wrong."

It occurred to Harry to ask how she _could _know anything, when no one who _did _know really talked to her. But of course. Dumbledore had warned them, hadn't he? All the secrecy in the world wouldn't protect Draco if he wasn't careful. "The match…"

The witch nodded, and they both looked toward the Slytherin to watch his reaction.

For long, long moments, Draco stared unfeelingly at her as she nervously chewed her lip. How could she know? How could _Chang_…?

How could he have been so _stupid_?

This was… quite literally… too big to contemplate. He knew, _knew_, that soon enough the implications of what Granger was telling him would hit him between the eyes, and, in all likelihood, knock him flat. Soon enough, the consequences of his own carelessness would come to haunt him.

But right now it seemed impossible to grasp. No, his mind said simply. There wasn't – there _couldn't be _– another two people he distrusted in possession of his secret, his reputation, his life. It wasn't possible. Bad enough Dumbledore, Lupin, Potter – even Severus, to some extent – but no, not Granger. Not the _fucking _Mudblood.

Not Potter's _ex_, either! No, that was too bitter, too stinging to think about.

The solidity of the wall at his back offered some minor comfort as he felt his thoughts turn chaotic, and he found himself sinking down it numbly, until he sat, dazed and detached, one hand tangled in his hair and hiding his eyes, the other pressed flat against the cold tiled floor, seeking its steadiness.

"Draco…" In a second, Harry was kneeling next to him, not really knowing what he was doing except acting on instinct. The blond twitched violently when he touched his shoulder, and refused to raise his head. "Come on, we'll… we'll fix it or something, just get up –"

"Don't you dare say another word, Potter!" His voice sounded terrible, even to his own ears. Hoarse and shrill and broken. Still, he didn't look up, even seeming to retreat further into his protective little huddle. "Shut up, _shut up_! If you tell me to do _one more thing_…!"

"I'm not –"

"Fuck you!" And then he was lashing out. Some tiny, quiet little voice told him that this was _Harry_, this was the person who ran with him under full moons, who, moments ago, had called him by his first name as if it were the only natural thing to do. This was Harry, on his knees with him and wanting to help.

But none of that mattered as he shoved out viciously, growling. Furious. The Gryffindor, caught off guard, tumbled backwards to land on his ass. Green eyes blinked in astonishment, and Granger let out a little startled cry, pathetically covering her mouth with her hand.

Draco felt the wolf rise in him and allowed it, baring his fangs in anger. "Do you even _know _what you're doing, Potter? I swear to_ Merlin_, if you do…" He shook his head in wordless warning.

"What –?"

"_Every_ time you tell me to do something, I _have to fucking do it_!" His breath came hard with the admission, and he averted his eyes, staring fixedly at his own pale hands which gripped the material of his trousers.

The other boy seemed to freeze slowly, his outrage cooling. "What are you talking about…?"

Draco sneered, but it was a front, without true malice, and they all knew it. "Dumbledore's spell," he spat out eventually, full of bitterness. "It's like a fucking _Imperius _or something. So just… shut up." 

Potter's thought process showed so clearly on his face that the Slytherin would have scorned him any other time. He watched his confusion form like a cloud, drifting into denial; then, as the changes grew swifter, creeping anger, moral outrage, his trademark righteousness, and, finally, such an odd weariness that Draco blinked, taken aback.

He wondered if the Gryffindor thought he was lying, or if he was simply tired of being dragged into the orbit of problems that seemed to centre around Draco.

Hermione shook her head, drawing attention to herself with the jerky movement. "Dumbledore… No, surely… I mean, he _wouldn't _–"

"He _did_, Granger." Draco had tried to insert a biting edge to his tone, but it came out just as tired and defeated as the brief expression shown on Potter's face. "See, I can't seem to recall any other vows I've taken lately that might cause me to become Potter's bloody _slave_."

Both Gryffindors stiffened at his phrasing, and Harry's flash of resignation retreated, to be replaced by such a feverish gleam in the green eyes that the blond drew back, once again pressing himself as tightly as possible against the expanse of wall behind him. It felt solid and safe.

"Dra– Mal–" Harry cut himself off, obviously unsure over whatever their respective footing now was. "Why didn't you tell me this?" he snapped eventually.

"I… I didn't realise until a few days ago."

"And you're _sure_?"

Grey eyes flashed. "Yes," he ground out. "There have been certain things I wouldn't have done, nor wanted to do, under normal circumstances, yet because you told me to…"

It seemed the Gryffindor knew immediately to what he referred, judging by the abrupt colour that flooded his cheeks. But along with the embarrassment came a look of guilt that the Slytherin hadn't expected. "Oh my God, Draco, I thought… I would _never_ have… If –"

"Yes alright," the blond cut across him, casting a pointed look in Hermione's direction, whose presence seemed to have been forgotten by her fellow Gryffindor. "Forget it, Potter. Really." He sighed, resisting the urge to run fingers through his hair again, a nervous habit he'd never quite managed to rid himself of. "One ridiculous crisis at a time..."

Drawing himself up – as much as he could while sitting on the floor, with the grey taint of fear and worry beginning to colour his edges – he lifted his chin with as much Malfoy pride as he could gather, looking directly at Granger. "Well? What will it take for _you _to stay quiet about –" he made some vague, encompassing gesture "– all of this?"

For a while, she was silent, staring at him incredulously. His stomach sank as he waited for the inevitable rant about how it was just too _unethical _to let an unregistered werewolf roam the castle, and how she was honour-bound to report him. Hah, let her go to Dumbledore, and discover the mess she'd find herself in then, him already knowing the truth and all…

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," she scolded with exasperation and a roll of the eyes, regaining some of her usual temper with him.

He frowned, not comprehending for a few moments.

"I've known for days, haven't I?" she went on. "And I already told you I haven't said anything."

"Yes, but –"

"And she won't," Harry broke in. He hadn't forgotten his anger with her, but she was still trustworthy. They would argue later, but now clearly wasn't the time.

Draco didn't protest as the Gryffindor shifted himself so that they sat side by side, both leaning back against the wall and staring unseeingly ahead. It became even stranger when Granger moved to take her place beside Harry, and the three of them seemed almost allies – which, of course, was too absurd to even contemplate – but the Slytherin found himself too spent to protest anything, and merely sat complacently, filled with the novelty of letting these two former-enemies go about systemising his current state of chaos.

Harry was nodding slowly to himself. "Right. So. I suppose I'll have to get used to asking questions, instead of saying anything remotely… command-like. Uhm, is that okay?"

Draco sighed softly and closed his eyes. "I hope so," he answered truthfully.

"That just leaves Cho," Granger murmured

Next to him, the Slytherin could almost feel Harry's aura go cold. "No," the other boy responded, barely audible. "No, not quite."

xxx

It didn't at all aid Harry's sense of fury when he was forced to stand outside the gargoyle entrance listing every sweet name under the sun for at least twenty minutes before he finally guessed the correct password, and was allowed to proceed in storming up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. With each step, his mood darkened.

It was now sheer frustration trying to convince the Slytherin to do _anything_, even the smallest, most usual task. It had taken an unnecessary amount of time and effort for he and Hermione to persuade Draco to return to his room and let _them_ worry about Cho. The werewolf seemed determined to go against whatever Harry said, if only to prove to himself, or to them, that he could. And now that he knew of his own unwanted power over the other, the Gryffindor was determined not to use it – though employing it would have cut short the argument that had risen between them by about fifteen minutes.

Still, as convenient as Draco's obedience might be, Harry knew he wouldn't ask for it from now on. It made him feel dirty and cruel, even if he hadn't _intentionally _done wrong.

The Slytherin's carefully worded warning still echoed horribly in his head.

That morning – the morning they'd woken together, which Harry was growing quite used to, and had forgotten it ever seemed weird – which apparently it had to Draco – Draco, who hadn't _wanted_ to stay, he said, but had been _told _to, and so of course had obeyed…

The memory was ruined for him now. Shadowed by a guilt and disgust with himself he couldn't help, where before it had been something… pleasant. Comforting, he might have said, or even treasured, if he was in a very generous mood. In his mind, the incident had been some unspoken agreement, a truce, with the possibility of a hundred different things behind it.

Apparently not.

He didn't bother to knock. Upon entering the office, Dumbledore looked up at him with some surprise, pausing in his paper work. "Harry? Is something wrong, my boy?"

"How could you do that?" The accusation broke from him as he stalked across the room, coming to stand before the Headmaster's desk and glare down at the old man. Fawks let out a chittering, anxious noise and shifted on his perch.

Dumbledore set down his quill slowly and frowned, silver brows coming together in concern. "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Harry."

Green eyes flashed, reminiscent of an anger displayed in this very room at the end of fifth year. "Your _spell_. The one you cast on Draco to make sure he'd stay loyal."

"What about it?"

Harry shook his head in astonishment. "Sir! How…? You can't just… How could you _do _that to him?"

"I was under the impression that you already knew the terms of the agreement between myself and Mr Malfoy. You seemed to find them acceptable before –"

"I didn't realise it meant turning him into… into… I didn't know he'd have to do _whatever I said_!"

Dumbledore looked at him sharply, suddenly rigid in his chair. "The bargain I made did nothing of the sort, Harry. I simply asked that he consent to the few things I would ask of him, such as becoming part of the DA. Do you really believe I'd put one student in complete control of another?"

The Gryffindor faltered, but remembered his anger. "Then why is this happening? I didn't even realise until he told me earlier! What would have happened if he hadn't, and I'd said something _stupid_?"

The Headmaster rose from his seat, leaning on the desk between them. He reached out a hand and clasped the boy's shoulder with surprising strength. "I assure you, once again, that what you're describing is nothing to do with my spell. It isn't the first time I've made such an agreement, and produced no such consequences. If Mr Malfoy had only come to me, I could have told him myself –"

"He doesn't trust you," Harry answered plainly, looking quite distrustful himself. "And if it isn't you, then what's doing this?"

"I can honestly say I don't know, my boy. It sounds like a variation of the _Imperius_, if anything. I have to wonder if it's the result of another inventive curse of Lucius Malfoy's…"

"Draco's dad? Why would he do that?"

The Headmaster went on as if he hadn't heard, talking mostly to himself as he resumed his seat and began riffling through the desk drawers. "Perhaps a way to separate his son from you. He'd know, of course, that Draco wouldn't want to remain around an individual with such power over him… Or, even more simply, this could be Lucius's form of punishment..."

Green eyes widened incredulously. "He couldn't just dock pocket money?"

"Oh, I imagine any access to family monies has already been cut off. Lucius is a hard man, who had a life planned out for his son. That Draco is going against everything his father stands for is a slap in the face." Finally, he pulled out a crinkled letter from the bottom of the drawer, setting it on the desk. "Lucius wrote a few months ago informing Draco that he was to be Marked. That was what prompted our agreement. I've been intercepting his letters since then, and more than a few of them have contained hexes of varying severity."

The Gryffindor shook his head in disbelief. "When he said… I didn't think…"

"This is only a theory, you understand. It seems doubtful that Lucius Malfoy managed to sneak such a powerful curse past myself _and _the school wards, but it's still something to think about. Of course, I'll look into other possibilities, as well. Harry…" He paused, and looked up at the boy gravely. "I promised Draco Malfoy my protection, and I meant it."

Harry nodded haltingly. Yes, he could believe that.

The problem was that it left one very big, gaping question: What the hell else could be causing the compulsion?


	27. Fallen Prince

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 27**: Fallen Prince

xxx

Draco couldn't summon the energy to go to the library, though he knew he really should. Potter had dropped by his room later the same night of the DA meeting, only to inform him in an oddly reserved tone that he didn't believe that Dumbledore was responsible for this new curse afflicting the Slytherin. Naturally, Draco had accused him of defending his saintly Headmaster through utter denial, but Potter had explained with such conviction and calm reason how he hadn't yet ruled Dumbledore out, but was intent on looking into other possibilities.

Of course, that meant research. He'd refused to let the Gryffindor share his humiliation with anybody else who didn't already know, so that meant no outside help. He'd have to do his own work – for once. Bitterly, Draco cursed his own unfortunate circumstances.

He longed for the simplicity of that evening back in September, just before he'd been bitten. Back then, he could have ordered one of the lesser Slytherins to do the boring research on anything he needed. Back then, he would have been enjoying the French chocolates his mother owled him and flipping through a wizards' catalogue, picking out the latest designer robes to buy with his father's money.

That was a long-ago fantasy, now. Used to treating his expensive clothing almost carelessly, safe in the knowledge that he'd be updating his wardrobe within the month, every month, he was now reduced to brushing up on such menial magic as cleaning and mending charms, frantically trying to keep his robes in decent condition ever since Lucius had firmly cut him off. Worse, he found himself wearing muggle attire more and more frequently, if only to preserve more presentable outfits.

And if clothing was his biggest worry, he would have counted himself lucky. No, he was too preoccupied wondering about the schedule of the full moon, his father's increasing punishments, Potter's persistent presence and odd new power of persuasion, the fact that Granger knew _far_ too much, his dwindling status among fellow Slytherins, and whatever new alarming hiding place he'd find Vanima in today…

Sighing, Draco rose to his feet. At least there was something he could fix. His housemates had simply forgotten the power of his presence since he'd started retreating to his own room so often, rather than deign to haunt the Slytherin common room.

He just had to remind them, was all.

xxx

"Pureblood," he murmured to the portrait which guarded his House. It swung forward obediently to allow him access. Self-consciously, he straightened the line of his robes and checked that his hair hadn't fallen out of place during the walk here. No, still perfect. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin in a manner he'd learned gave him an air of superiority and also added to his somewhat small stature.

Full of the obnoxious pride he'd found was the best method of keeping upstart Slytherins in line, he swept past the portrait and into the domain he'd always been at home in.

He saw Blaise and Pansy immediately, hovering near the fireplace in secluded conversation, obviously whispering about something or other. When the other boy turned toward him, it seemed for a moment a shadow of a smile crossed his face, as if by habit, before all expression was completely dropped. For a Slytherin such as Blaise, that could only mean true anxiety was surging away beneath the mask.

Draco's step faltered as he felt the atmosphere shift, and he came to a stop in the centre of the room, feeling suddenly foolish. Experience had refined his skill at sensing the collective mood of a room, and he felt his welcome was far too chilly to mean anything good.

It was Nott who spoke up first. Amidst a flurry of sudden whispers, his voice was loud and clear and challenging. "How the mighty do fall, Malfoy."

Oh yes, _this_ was what he needed. Pretentious bloody prat…

He turned slowly, as if it was a great bother to be forced to acknowledge someone so far below him. He'd perfected the expression, all removed distaste, one that never failed to infuriate Weasley.

Nott didn't back down, though, much to Draco's surprise. Sure, the idiot was a loud-mouth, but he'd rarely shown spine enough to be this defiant. Uneasy, the blond cast a glance around, discreetly inhaling the scents that surrounded him. He'd always been sceptical that animals could smell emotions, but he'd discovered wolf-senses were quite adept at detecting such things as the adrenaline of fear or excitement. But here, there was nothing. Slytherins were watching him calmly, even coldly, and for the first time since he'd established his own authority at Hogwarts, his housemates weren't afraid of him.

He blanched.

Nott grinned, and it was a cruel, victorious expression that made Draco wonder how long the other had guarded his resentment. He moved to one of the low tables near the armchairs, grabbed the open newspaper there, and flung it in Draco's direction.

A combination of Seeker and wolf reflexes allowed him to swipe the tumbling paper from the air, without embarrassing himself further by fumbling. He cast a frozen glare at his challenger – reminding him, at least a little, of the anger that would meet such an insult – before disdainfully lowering his eyes to the page in front of him.

He scanned it quickly and felt his stomach drop, instantly finding the reason for his less than reverent reception.

_**Draco Malfoy, **_the headline read, _**A Malfoy No Longer! **_

He didn't have to reads the article that followed to know what his father had done. So this was his latest punishment, was it? For his continued disobedience, he was to be stripped of what little power he had left in the form of his reputation as his father's son. Lucius had gone and made his disownment public knowledge, and consequently, among his fellow Slytherins at least, plummeted him to the lowest of the low. They would realise, with the shrewdness that had helped put them in this House, what it all meant: Draco Malfoy's goodwill, always coveted, was now useless. No money, no might, no influence. His friendship could do nothing for them, his leadership even less. And if their parents were now looking for Lucius's favour, associating with him could even be detrimental, not just useless.

Furious, he tossed the copy of the Prophet to the floor at his feet. Nott was staring at him with overly bright eyes, expectant, waiting for the futile arguments he wanted Draco to voice.

The blond said nothing. He would not resort to begging, even if that meant allowing his power to slip away without a word of protest. So be it.

He turned on his heel, proud in his silence, and left the common room with as much dignity as he could still muster.

xxx

The façade lasted about as long as it took him to reach the safety of the deserted library, where he hurriedly sought out a table hidden behind the bookshelves and flung himself into a chair, head in his hands.

He should have seen this coming, he told himself. _Of course _Lucius would eventually resort to this, bastard that he was. As if he hadn't already humiliated him enough…

Quite ready to allow himself to spiral downwards into his depression and brood the rest of the day away, he was stopped short by someone scraping back the chair opposite him and taking the seat wordlessly. Slowly, he raised his eyes, narrowing them in silent warning. He was _not _in the mood for company.

He'd half expected Potter to be sitting there, staring back at him. Instead he found his female Gryffindor counterpart. Granger lifted her chin with false confidence as he put his full force behind a glare, trying simply to _will _her to disappear. In her arms, she clutched a stack of books pressed to her chest protectively.

"Is there something you want?" he ground out, when, surprisingly, she showed no sign of moving.

Apparently, she heard that as an invitation to dump the pile of books onto the table between them and make herself that bit more comfortable by depositing her school bag under her chair. "Look," she began, adopting a tone that might have been assertive, had Draco not been looking at her with absolute incredulity. "I've been looking into this… compulsion issue for you –"

"Excuse me?"

"There's actually quite a lot of information on the subject here in the library, you know," she said, for all the world as if they often had friendly little chats like this. "Of course, it _sounds _so much like the Imperius curse, so that seems the most logical topic to research. But _then_, I started thinking that – with the fact that you're a… well, you know – a variety of spells could affect you differently than they would normal wizards. So –"

"Granger?"

"Yes?"

"What the _fuck _are you doing?" His stress levels had never been so high. He gripped the table edge to hide the fact that his hands were shaking. If he wasn't mistaken, he saw her hesitate, and realised that his expression _was_ probably a little crazed. Calming himself just slightly, he leaned across the table to hiss angrily, "Did Potter tell you to do this? I _told _him I didn't want anyone else –"

She had the audacity to roll her eyes. "_You _were the one who told Harry about it in front of me, so I already knew. And no, as a matter of fact, I'm doing this of my own volition. He'd probably throw just as big a tantrum as you are if he _did _know."

"I am _not _–" Draco stopped himself, realising how inane _that _particular argument would be. Gritting his teeth, he stared at her levelly. "Why would you help me?" he demanded ungraciously, scowling.

"I'm not doing it for you," she told him, in a tone that suggested that should be obvious. "This is for Harry. He _hates _having this kind of power over anyone." Personally, she thought he believed it made him like the Durseleys – which was quite untrue, she could have told him.

The Slytherin curled a scornful lip and refused to dignify her comment with a response.

"You're not the only one hurting lately," Hermione went on, averting her eyes all of a sudden to examine the titles of her books. "It seems like we've all had the rug swept out from beneath us this year…"

"Oh what would you know?" he snapped, feeling defensive. "You and Potter are just the same, always preaching about how your problems are worse –"

"Don't be so stupid!"

He looked up in surprise, unused to the whip-crack reprimand from the witch. She glared fiercely, spots of angry colour high on her cheeks.

"Harry would never say anything of the sort, and you know it. No matter that it'd probably be _true _if he did!"

He seethed. "Oh yes," he said very quietly, voice gone shockingly cold. "How couldn't I see it? _Potter_, with all his worshipping fans, his friends, that bloody oversized, interbred clan of Weasleys he calls a family, his money, his _fucking_ reputation – oh yes! He's so much worse off than me!"

She stared at him for long moments, her lips pressed thin in a manner reminiscent of McGonagall. But eventually, she sighed and seemed to slump. "Alright… alright I'm sorry. I didn't mean that…"

"Yes you did," he muttered. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. That was perfectly fine, he told himself. He didn't want Granger's pity or _understanding_. It occurred to him that this ditch attempt to help him was probably on a par with her ridiculous campaign for House Elf rights. Good lord, could he sink any lower?

For a moment, it seemed as if she'd argue with him, a frown line appearing between her brows. He resisted the urge to snidely inform her she'd get wrinkles if she kept that expression up.

But then she sighed as well, and tiredly slid some of the books toward him. "I won't do all your work for you. Here."

He glanced at them automatically, eyeing the titles and wincing. They sounded boring as dust. Nevertheless, after a moment's consideration, he reached out and laid his hand on the cover of one and nodded. Fine. If _Granger _could put in the effort to do this, _he _certainly could.

With that, she rose and disappeared from the library, her frizzy hair bouncing on her shoulders, leaving him to sulk, his forehead now resting despondently atop a copy of, _"Compulsions, Curses and Other Curious Maladies."_

xxx

Harry had, of course, seen the Prophet that morning, and had consequently spent most of his day looking for the spurned Slytherin. Draco hadn't been sitting at his House table at breakfast, nor any other meal of the day. He hadn't been in his room, either, which was odd these days. When Harry had stopped by, Lilith had informed him that she hadn't seen the blond for hours, and inside he found only Vanima and a few leftover crickets she hadn't gotten round to eating just yet. The snake was no use either, not understanding a word Draco might have uttered to himself before leaving for… wherever he was.

He might have thought the missing blond was in his House common room, except that he'd happened to overhear a couple of other Slytherins discussing their less than favourable opinion of their former leader. Harry never failed to be amazed at the lack of loyalty shown by the serpentine House. He had to hide his unexpected outrage on Draco's behalf and hurry past, lest he make a complete prat of himself by saying something stupid in the blonde's defence.

So, that evening as supper was being served in the Great Hall and Draco had yet to appear, he was beginning to grow very worried indeed.

Watching him, Hermione shook her head in exasperation. Harry's chin rested heavily in one hand, his other wielding a fork and poking disinterestedly at his food. He couldn't be anymore obvious if he tried, and she was just thankful Ron wasn't here to see this. The Boy Who Lived was undoubtedly moping over _Malfoy_.

Finally taking pity on him, she scooted closer so they could talk quietly, and murmured near his ear, "He was fine the last time I saw him. Just a little moody."

Green eyes shot toward her. "When did you…? Where…?"

"This afternoon. I found him hiding in the library, if you must know." She arched an eyebrow in an attempt for haughtiness, but had to smile when she saw her friend's pathetically concerned expression. "He's _fine_, Harry. If I'd thought he was about to… to cut his _wrists_ or something, I would have told you."

The boy frowned and picked at his food some more. "You talked to him?"

She shrugged. "Only for a moment. I… gave him some books I'd been reading. About compulsion –"

"What? He said –"

"Oh for goodness' sake, Harry, I _know_ he doesn't want my help, he told me that much himself. But the pair of you wouldn't get a thing done if you tried to work on your own. Research… isn't your strong point."

He looked at her intently, caught between indignation and gratitude. "… He said he'd let you?"

"Not in so many words," she answered evasively, thinking of the Slytherin's sullen, silent acceptance of the books. "But pretty much, yes. So stop worrying. He's just sulking."

Harry snorted. "It's a bit more than _that_, Hermione. He's just been publicly disowned. I mean –"

He stopped short, blinking. Following his gaze, Hermione twisted in her seat to look at the entrance of the Hall as the blond in question strode in. There was no descending silence, thankfully. She felt that would have been far too dramatic. Malfoy didn't even glance at the two Gryffindors as he swept past, seeming just as arrogant as ever, even without his infamous Slytherin posse flanking him. That confidence only began to falter as he actually approached his table, to find himself met with stares that varied from indifferent to downright hostile. Still, Hermione had to admit she was impressed as she watched Malfoy take his housemates' displeasure in stride, taking a seat at one end of the table, far from his usual throne at the centre. With forced calm, the blond lifted his chin and silently went about his meal.

"How can they _do _that?" Harry hissed in her ear, glaring fixedly at the Slytherin table. "I would have thought they'd give him _some _support."

She tried to keep her voice low as she replied, afraid Harry would get too carried away and allow half their housemates to overhear. "Their parents will be able to guess why he and Lucius Malfoy split, Harry. They're probably getting letters ordering them to stay away from Draco."

"Still…"

They sat in silence for a while longer, Hermione refraining with difficulty from mentioning how surreal a situation it was, for Harry to be visibly _fretting _over his ex-nemesis. The boy was anything but talkative, snapping when his housemates tried to involve him in conversation, and barely tolerating Hermione's quiet attempts to draw him out of the mood.

They'd been there another fifteen minutes when, opposite them, Seamus and Dean broke off their conversation and turned toward them. "Oy, Harry, you'll know," the Irish boy said loudly, drawing attention. He waved a copy of the Prophet and indicated the familiar headline and picture of Lucius Malfoy. "What's this about?"

The boy froze. "How should I know?" he asked stiffly.

Seamus looked sceptical. "C'mon. You've been preaching Malfoy's few existing virtues to the entire DA since he first showed up there. You know something."

"I do not," Harry insisted defensively, frowning.

"You _blatantly _told us he wasn't a Death Eater. You well know something!"

"Well, it's none of your business if I do!" Harry finally snapped out, putting his fork down with unnecessary force. Hermione winced, sensing his anxiousness increasing and trying to place a subtle, calming hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.

At the same time, from the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy rise to leave. Harry noticed him as well, as did many of the Gryffindors. Really, she thought, it was just bad timing, with Harry's flare of temper.

The blond was heading for the door in his dignified way when the loud and obvious snigger rang out from further along the Gryffindor table. Malfoy tensed, but kept going. Harry's head whipped to the side, eyes pinning the offender, who had yet to notice his attention.

Lavender Brown snorted as the Slytherin passed her, muttering to Parvati in an obnoxiously audible voice, "I think it was the money that did it. He doesn't seem that scary anymore…"

Harry could see what was coming, and moved accordingly, hurriedly rising from his seat and making his way along the table, eyes on the blond, who had stopped in his tracks and spun to face the startled girl, wand in hand and pointed steadily.

"Wanna bet?" he spat, looking furious. Parvati had gone pale beneath her tan skin, but Lavender only looked defiant. She spotted Harry's approach and smiled, apparently expecting him to come to her defence.

Instead, he reached out and gently grasped the Slytherin's wrist. Draco twitched and looked at him in surprise, not having registered his presence until now. Harry didn't say anything, afraid that whatever new magic linked them would interpret it as an order, but his expression was articulate enough.

Draco sneered, but lowered the wand without much real protest. Giving a final lethal glare at the two girls, he turned and stalked from the room.

Harry sighed. "Don't be a bitch, Lavender," he muttered tiredly, before following the departed Slytherin, oblivious to the astounded expressions of his housemates he was leaving behind.

xxx

At the staff table, the Headmaster watched the brief communication with fascination. He smiled, pleased with himself, when the blond boy yielded. If Harry had said something, he might have suspected a compulsion, but the Gryffindor had been silent. He felt sure he was watching an entirely natural interaction.

Happily, he turned to Severus, who sat at his side. "You see, my boy, I knew what I was doing. Had I not thrown them together, Mr Malfoy could have found himself entirely alone right now."

The Potions Master growled lowly, silently advocating the virtues of solitude.

xxx

"I realise my reputation isn't as formidable as it once was, but must you pulverise what's left of it!"

Harry stared at the blond incredulously. "There's not a lot left to pulverise!" he defended himself, throwing his hands up as he trailed after the other. "I figured it wouldn't matter anymore if your… _friends_ knew you were talking to me."

"That's not your decision!"

The Gryffindor shrugged, though the motion went unseen. "I'm not going to stand there while you're attacked by Gryffindors _and _Slytherins."

At that, Draco stopped dead, causing Harry to almost walk straight into him. He whirled around with a similar expression on his face to the one he'd worn back in the Hall. "Are you… are you trying to _protect_ me?"

Harry winced. "I… No… What if I am?"

"I don't _need _you to! Good God, I'm not _that _pathetic! And have you forgotten that _your _friends aren't exactly going to take kindly to you marching me _protectively _out of the Hall?"

"So? They'll just have to deal if they care that much. Besides, I don't think they will. They're used to me trusting you at the DA, this won't be much different."

For a moment, it looked like Draco might respond. His mouth was set firmly, and spots of colour beginning to appear on his pale skin – the first tell-tale signs of an unwarranted tantrum, in Harry's experience.

But then, without a word, he turned around and continued along the hallway they were in, toward his room.

"What are you going to do?" Harry called after him, oddly worried. He jogged to keep up.

"Drink myself stupid," came the short tempered response.

The Gryffindor frowned. "You have alcohol?"

"A bottle of Firewiskey I took from home last– Potter, why are you still following me?"

Harry shrugged again, sticking his hands in his pockets to stop them fidgeting. "I heard you shouldn't drink alone."

"What? You can't just _invite _yourself along!"

"I think I just did."


	28. The Morning After the Night Before

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 28**: The Morning After the Night Before

xxx

Somehow, Harry was managing to hold his own. He wasn't one for drinking excessively, especially not strong liquor, but that didn't seem to prevent him from matching his Slytherin counterpart in shot after shot of the burning liquid that Draco unsteadily poured for them both. There were now small puddles of it on the table around where their glasses sat, either from uncoordinated hands entirely missing their mark as they grew steadily more inebriated, or an even more undignified result of one of them laughing unexpectedly while attempting to drink.

Currently, Harry was grinning like an idiot at something one of them had just said – though for the life of him, he couldn't remember what that had been, or who had said it. Somewhere in the back of his head, there had been a voice insisting that he'd regret this when he found he couldn't move due to a hangover of epic proportions in the morning, but he thought he'd managed to drown it several shots back. Now, he drifted pleasantly, mind and body both buzzing as Malfoy prattled on in the background. The Gryffindor was completely failing to pay attention, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them, so long as he nodded in the right places.

"…and _Nott_! That absolute p-pre-preten – that idiot! How dare he? Do you know what he said to me? He said I'd fallen!"

"Did you?"

"_No_, I was perfectly graceful. The point is… The point is…" But Draco couldn't seem to recall exactly what the point was, so substituted by pouring out the last drops of Firewhiskey into the tiny shot glasses. He frowned regretfully when the last of it had drained from the bottle.

"We should toast something," Harry said suddenly, as Draco picked up his drink, ready to toss it back without thought.

"Why?"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "Dunno. Something to do."

His companion blinked cluelessly for a few moments. "Uhm… To what?" he finally gathered himself enough to ask, ignoring the way the world lurched as he shifted slightly, rearranging his legs more comfortably beneath him. He sat cross-legged on the floor, the other boy opposite him in the same position, the coffee table between them.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement, and turned to glance at Vanima, slithering her way onto the warm hearth of the lit fireplace.

Inspired, he turned back to the Gryffindor, momentarily forgetting himself and allowing a similarly idiotic grin to pass over his face. "Toast something in Parseltongue for me!" he insisted, remembering how the sibilant words had fallen so nicely from the other's lips.

Green eyes blinked in surprise, but it didn't take long for Draco's enthusiasm to catch. "What do you want me to say?" he asked, grinning. It was odd, knowing someone else appreciated the language. Even Ron and Hermione were made uneasy by it, and half the school still considered it Dark.

But then, he supposed that explained why Draco liked it, with his fixation for all magic just this side of legal.

The blond shook his head. "Anything," he breathed, already leaning forward with anticipation. He'd probably regret showing such eagerness later, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Yes, he'd heard Potter speak the snake language before, but he wanted to hear it spoken directly to _him_…

The Gryffindor cast around for ideas, before seeming to think of something satisfactory and picking up his glass. He turned to glance at Vanima, concentrating for a second, before beginning to speak.

And yes, there it was. That sound that Draco would never admit he couldn't get enough of; soft, flowing whispers that he could never grasp, never understand, but certainly admire. Green eyes lost their sharpness when he spoke it, glazed as they imagined he was addressing a serpent, even as he directed the words at the blond.

Draco wasn't really aware of deciding to move. Only that, abruptly, he was halfway around the table, crawling, trying to close the distance between himself and the beautiful language. Harry looked startled, for a moment, then smiled and finished whatever speech he'd just made with a flourish, tipping back his head and finishing his last shot. Draco had forgotten all about his, and didn't care to remember it, either.

Instinctively, he reached out and grasped the other's wrist, demanding, "Don't stop!" in his best spoilt brat tone of voice.

Harry looked amused. "I have nothing else to say," he responded, quite reasonably. "You don't even know what I said in the first place."

"I don't care," the Slytherin insisted, shaking his head. "I don't want to know. Just… do it again." He rose up so that he was on his knees, intending to stare commandingly down at the still seated Gryffindor.

Unfortunately, the world chose that moment to pitch sideways, and without any decent warning, Draco found himself tumbling inelegantly straight into the other boy, who, unhelpful as ever, offered no resistance and the pair ended up sprawled across the floor, only just missing the table corner on the way down.

Flat on his back, Harry looked up at the blond peering down at him, Draco's weight solid and comfortable on his chest. His vision swam and wavered, a combination of his intoxication and the fact that his glasses were now severely askew. It made a pleasant image, the Slytherin's pale, sharp features softened and illuminated attractively. Indulgently, without any real thought about what he was doing – something that was to become his legacy, it would seem – he reached up and ran his fingers through the feather-soft strands of hair, brushing them away from the other boy's eyes.

Draco positively purred – which should have been impossible, Harry thought distantly, since he was supposed to be a wolf, not a cat – and practically melted against him with the petting. Ordinarily, the reaction might have startled him, so unreserved, so patently un-Malfoy. But right now, in these moments when neither were in their right minds, he revelled in it and repeated the motion, hoping to hear the blond respond with that noise of contentment again.

He did just that, sighing a little, and his breath was sweet with the whiskey. Grey eyes closed partway, thoroughly relaxed, and he even leaned toward the hand buried in his hair. Really, Harry thought, Draco might well have been a werewolf, but this was like dealing with an overgrown cat. Not that he minded, of course. In fact, he quite enjoyed the low, pleased purring that sent waves of vibration through him.

He didn't realise the blond had moved until he felt his glasses gently being taken from him. He blinked in mild surprise, trying to refocus his eyes without success, and heard Draco deposit the lenses somewhere off to the side.

"Harry…?"

It didn't seem odd to hear the other use his first name – and, for that matter, it now seemed perfectly normal to be lying with him like this – so Harry merely smiled lazily to show he'd heard. "Yeah?" He was growing drowsy, his voice slurring more than ever. Soon he'd sleep, and he hoped Draco wouldn't feel the need to move. He was comfy like this…

"Harry…" The name came as a puff of breath against his mouth, barely audible, barely there.

The Gryffindor sighed, his eyes closing of their own accord. He was so tired, and so dizzy, and so warm. Happy, he let his hand trail away from the blond hair, over the vague jut of a shoulder blade, coming to rest on the small of Draco's back.

It woke him up considerably, however, when he felt another mouth descend against his own.

Green eyes flew wide, but Draco was oblivious. He acted on a whim, not quite tentative, but curious, and with all the hesitancy of heading into the unknown. It was an experiment, something that had been in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit, and which was now impossible to deny. Beneath him, Harry hissed in surprise, and it was so reminiscent of the Parseltongue he'd spoken only moments ago that Draco shivered happily. Fingernails scraped his back through his shirt as the Gryffindor's hand clenched convulsively, but other than that there seemed no response other than frozen shock from his partner. Rather disappointing, frankly.

Determined to achieve some sort of reaction before he was through, the Slytherin deepened the kiss insistently. Lips moved with only a hint of uncertainty, communicating his curiosity and a muted desire he hadn't thought existed, sharing secrets, awkward only when he happened to open his eyes and was met with a stunningly green gaze, unshielded for once behind glass lenses, and still pinned wide with astonishment.

It was the brief, almost shy flick of Draco's tongue that finally gained him the effect he wanted. Harry's breath came sharp all of a sudden, and lashes lowered dazedly. His back arched seemingly against his will, and both hands rose to grip the blonde's waist tightly.

Of course, with their mutual states of drunkenness, it was a kiss that would seem clumsy and slightly cringe-worthy in retrospect, but for the moment it was more than satisfactory.

The frustration that had been bothering Harry for weeks finally peaked, and without warning he found himself moving in a surge, not giving the Slytherin time to protest as he flipped him onto his back and rolled so that he was on top. Grey eyes blinked in surprise, but a flicker of a smirk had appeared, and remained as Harry lowered himself and resumed what Draco had started.

Neither knew what they were doing. Harry was copying the half-remembered fragments of the Dream that were currently lurching around his memory and making his heart hammer with excitement. Draco, on the other hand, was obeying the victorious howl of the wolf that sounded throughout his head, and was oddly okay with that fact. It wasn't bad, he conceded, this whole kissing Harry Potter thing. This in mind, he allowed his fingers to tangle in the incessantly untidy strands of hair as the Gryffindor broke away, only to trail uncoordinated kisses over his jaw and neck.

No, not bad at all, Draco thought distantly, seconds before he closed his eyes and promptly passed out, his hand up the Gryffindor's shirt, and Harry's face hidden in the crook of his neck.

xxx

It was the sound of the shower that eventually woke the unconscious Gryffindor, hours later. He stirred as the last remnants of sleep left him, and immediately felt more muscles than he knew he owned stiffen and tense. Good God, what horrendous position had he slept in last night?

Cringing, he groped blindly for his glasses, which were found only after an inelegant crawl around his blurred surroundings. Dazed, he fumbled to replace them, his hands oddly stiff and not quite as deft as usual. A dull, irritating ache had begun to build behind his eyes ever since he'd dragged himself upright, and suddenly surged into ridiculous proportions as he attempted to rise to his feet. Horrified, he pressed his fingers tightly to his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, staggering and disorientated.

In the background, the sound of running water suddenly stopped, and he froze with it. The presence of another person became too obvious to ignore, as well as the creeping sense of trepidation he couldn't quite put a name to.

Something was wrong, he just couldn't remember what. Looking around, he spent a few dazed moments trying to figure out where he was. It was the sight of a carelessly thrown Slytherin tie across the back of the nearby couch that finally tipped him off – and also what caused memory to come rushing back.

It seemed something very heavy had just hit him in the gut. He whirled around to stare at the spot on the floor he'd slept on, remembering – with an odd mix of horror and delight – how he and _Malfoy_ had snogged and, in the blonde's case, even stolen a quick grope before collapsing there.

No. That had been a dream. It _had _to have been!

As he stood there, stunned into motionlessness, there came the sound of the bathroom door opening, causing flighty panic to erupt in Harry. He scolded himself for the reaction – reminding himself that he was _Gryffindor _after all, and shouldn't he be facing this head on? – but still, it didn't stop his expression from resembling something like terror as Draco appeared.

The blond sauntered into the room as if it was perfectly normal to have a half-awake and fully hungover Gryffindor rival blinking back at him with the imprint of his carpet on his left cheek. He'd obviously had more time than Harry to compose himself, and was now dressed in an extremely flattering muggle outfit, consisting of black jeans and polo neck that made his skin and hair look shockingly pale. In a good way, of course, as he'd determined several times over in the mirror the day he'd bought it.

Upon laying eyes on Harry, however, his expression swiftly went from casual to incredulous.

"Surely you don't intend to show yourself in public like that?" The Slytherin actually looked a little disgusted, his mouth twitching as if he was longing to sneer. "Merlin, Potter, go get a shower!"

Harry blanched. "In… in _there_?" He gestured vaguely to the room Draco had just vacated.

"No, I was thinking the lake. I hear it's refreshing this time of the morning. _Yes_, in there. _God_." It seemed sarcasm was very much a morning thing with the blond, his small reserve of patience not having kicked in yet. Rolling his eyes and looking thoroughly scornful, Draco turned and disappeared again into his bedroom.

At a loss, Harry scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. There was always a chance – a slim, hopeful little chance – that the other boy didn't remember what had happened. He _had _seemed pretty out of it. Maybe–

"Potter, I told you to get a fucking shower so I can take you seriously! We need to talk."

Maybe not.

xxx

God Malfoy was a girl. This was the solitary unhelpful thought that repeated in his head as he entered the bathroom and took stock of the amazing amount of soap-related products. Shampoo, hair conditioner, moisturiser, _bubblebath_, for Christ's sake, shower gel, hair gel... The list went on, all of them lined neatly on a shelf near the shower in brightly coloured bottles. Harry eyed them sceptically as he shut the door behind him and cast a casual locking charm. Maybe he shouldn't really be so surprised that the Slytherin might indeed be gay…

Pushing this thought from his head, he undressed quickly and turned on the shower, stepping under the warm water as the air began to chill his skin. From then on, he moved like an automaton, using shampoo and soap mechanically while his thoughts raced along very different paths.

What the hell had happened?

No, scratch that. He knew _what _had happened. Perhaps the question should be _how _had it happened? He was sure he hadn't been the one to initiate whatever it had been. Malfoy – well, he supposed he really should call him Draco now, having swapped spit and all. _Draco _had been the one to move first. He definitely remembered that much.

So what did that mean? There was no way the Slytherin had been _serious_. What if…?

Though Harry dreaded the very thought, he suddenly found himself racking his memory to make sure he hadn't inadvertently ordered the blond into something he hadn't wanted. Again.

Oh God, what if he had? What if he'd taken advantage of not only that power, but the fact that Draco had so obviously been pissed beyond rational thought last night? Was that what the boy wanted to 'talk' about? Merlin, he was probably furious.

Cringing to himself, Harry covered his face with his hands and let the water wash over him. He didn't want to leave the bathroom for fear of what would follow. The Slytherin was going to kill him, and Harry couldn't really blame him. After _promising _not to use compulsions again, he'd gone and done… _that_!

But no, surely he hadn't said anything open to interpretation. What could he possibly have said? "Oy, Malfoy, pour me another glass – oh, and then make out with me on the floor, if you don't mind."

As unlikely as it seemed, what other explanation was there?

xxx

Dressed, Harry edged back into the front room, plucking self-consciously at the rumpled clothes he'd worn last night. Draco turned from where he'd been standing by the mantelpiece, watching one of the moving ornaments march up and down, and eyed him expressionlessly. Any Gryffindor courage fled, and Harry was abruptly glad that he'd spent most of his shower planning what he was about to say.

"Malfoy," he started, bracing himself against the nerves and embarrassment threatening to build up. "Draco. About what happened… Look, I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd said anything that the magic could take as an order, but maybe…" He broke off, shrugging awkwardly. "If you just want to forget this ever happened… I mean, let's face it, I'm pretty much your only friend right now. To complicate that…"

"You didn't compel me, Harry."

"And, besides, you were _really _drunk last night. Well, we both were, to be honest– What?" Well, Harry thought distantly, there went his pre-prepared explanation.

Draco stared at him evenly, his expression so blank that the Gryffindor felt certain he wasn't the only one who'd tried to plan this conversation.

Harry shook his head, deciding to start from scratch. "But… but you're… you're not gay. I mean… are you?"

The blond frowned. "_No_. I'm a pureblood."

As easy as that answer made things, Harry just had to question it. "…So?" he asked incredulously, unable to follow the logic.

"God, Potter. There _aren't _any gay purebloods."

Harry blinked, and couldn't quite restrain the sarcasm that escaped him. "No, just those straight ones who happen to kiss boys on occasion." Exasperated, he rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the blonde's statement.

"Don't _mock_ me."

"I'm not, I'm just… pointing out that it was _you_ who started it." Harry lifted one shoulder sheepishly, regretting the comment almost as soon as it left his mouth. What happened to apologising? he asked himself, as Draco's eyes hardened and he folded his arms defensively.

"I hope you're not flattering yourself, Potter." He put particularly spiteful emphasis on the use of Harry's last name. "No, you didn't _compel _me, but I was hardly in my right mind, either. I'm sexually deprived since this entire werewolf thing started, if you must know. You happened to be _there_, okay? And we were drunk, and it felt good at the time. I'm not _gay_, I'm just… desperate." Apparently realising what he'd just said, the blond scowled at his own words and shoved away from the mantelpiece. Defeated, he dropped onto the couch and covered his face with his hands.

At a loss, the Gryffindor hovered awkwardly, reluctant to move any further into the room. His headache had yet to dissipate, and still throbbed behind his eyes, shortening his already strained temper. Still, he watched Draco's confusion with sympathy, even as he tried to ignore the sting of those words.

Finally, he sighed and moved to sit next to the other boy, though he made sure to keep a comfortable distance between them. "Alright. I get it. But, is it… is it any better to be _that _desperate…?"

Furious, Draco turned on him. "And what about you? You didn't object. You didn't put up any decent fight, so you can't claim you're so _innocent_ –"

"I wasn't going to." Despite his furious blush, he managed to say it calmly, looking straight ahead all the while.

The Slytherin's eyes went suddenly wide as he gaped at the Gryffindor, new understanding developing from a vein of intuition that ran in him. "You wanted that!"

"So did you –"

"No, I mean you've _thought _about that! Before last night!" He looked vaguely incredulous. "Potter! Did you _seduce _me?"

"_What_? No! I – God, of course I didn't!"

Embarrassment was equal on both sides now, as colour tinged the Slytherin's pale skin. "Well… I mean, it's just that… _That's _not something I _do_!" He made vague hand gestures, apparently meant to encompass their session last night.

Harry snorted. "I thought Slytherins were all about casual sex."

"Oh I do hope you're not so naïve that you thought _that _was sex –"

The Gryffindor glared warningly, but there was no real malice there. He was too tired to be really angry, and suspected the same of Draco. Now that they'd both sat down, exhaustion seemed to pounce, and Harry found himself slumping backwards in the couch with the vague feeling that he _should _feel weirder about what had happened than he actually did.

Next to him, the blond rubbed his eyes, the previously hidden signs of a similar hangover beginning to show in the way he winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. They sat like that for some time afterwards, in perfect silence, neither really knowing how to breach the looming issue that had formed between them.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes of mutual wordlessness, the Slytherin sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I didn't know you were bent," he commented, quietly, as if this was a totally normal conversation topic.

Harry glanced at him. "Really? I always figured you were."

That earned him a narrow eyed glare, and they resumed their silence, unsure about what had actually been established, if anything.


	29. The Old Vs The New

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 29**: The Old Vs The New

xxx

Ron returned on the Saturday to a very changed Hogwarts.

Having spent the week in the familiar not-quite-comfort of the Burrow, with Ginny being the annoying little sister she was meant to be, Fred and George constantly tormenting him, his mother alternating between doting on him and yelling until she was blue in the face, and his father sat tinkering with some muggle contraption at the kitchen table, Ron was quite ready to get back to the relative relief of school. And, with the break, he'd even felt his annoyance with Harry trickle away. Yes, he could see now that his friend wasn't trying to cause trouble between them, he was just trying to accommodate the request Dumbledore had made of him – insensitive old coot that he was – as well as do the best he could for the DA. It probably wasn't an easy job, especially since Harry seemed to have been partnered with Malfoy through lack of option at the informal lessons. Ron _supposed_, reluctantly, that he hadn't exactly been making the situation any easier.

He'd also been reading the Prophet during the holiday, and he'd seen the article in which Malfoy's disownment was announced to the world. _That _little bit of malicious satisfaction had gone a long way to easing his resentment.

So it was with the full intent to be the bigger person that he returned to Hogwarts, dumped his bag back in the dormitory and went in search of his best friend. It was about lunch time, so he headed straight for the Great Hall, where he guessed both Harry and Hermione would probably be, since the common room was deserted.

It felt good to be back, and with a new outlook. Malfoy could try all he liked to drive a wedge between Harry and his friends; that didn't mean he'd succeed. Besides, it wasn't like the devious Slytherin had all that much leverage anymore. Ron felt incredibly able to face up to whatever low insults were hurled at him now that he and the blond were on even ground. No, strike that – Malfoy was probably even poorer than _he _was, since his ignoble disownment! In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if the prat was hiding in shame, thereby removing Ron's problem altogether.

Grinning to himself and resisting the urge to whistle – which probably would have been excessive, as Hermione liked to say – the redhead happily made his way downstairs, already thinking up the taunts he'd finally get to use.

xxx

"Oy, Seamus, where's Harry?"

The dark haired boy glanced at him, mouth full of food which prevented him from answering immediately. He waved a hand to indicate he was trying to answer while Ron looked on, caught between amusement and impatience.

"Wondered when you were getting back," the Irish boy managed finally, swallowing. "Maybe _you _can talk some sense into him…"

Ron frowned. "What?"

Lavender, who had turned in her seat to glance at him, suddenly joined the conversation. "Ron! Oh my God, you have to _do _something!"

Mildly panicked now, the redhead looked between the pair with obvious concern. "Why? What's going on?"

"He's gone insane!" she said immediately, cutting across Seamus. "He called me a bitch! _Me_!"

"That," Seamus interrupted, rolling his eyes, "and the more serious symptom that he's _willingly _parading round with that snake."

"You mean _Malfoy_?" He had not shrieked, he told himself later. It was just the _horror_... "But I thought... I thought he was –"

"Poor as they come and twice as unpopular?" Seamus nodded. "Yeah, he is. Harry's _rescuing _him."

Ron sat down heavily on the bench next to the Irish boy, groaning and covering his eyes. "I leave for a _few days_...! What about Hermione? Why didn't she _do _anything? I bet that bastard's playing up his 'woe is me' act for all he's worth, and she at least should know Harry can't see through it!"

Seamus patted his shoulder consolingly and returned to his lunch.

xxx

They had agreed not to talk about it. Well. Not _agreed_, exactly. More like... simply refused to acknowledge that anything unusual had ever happened between them. Ever. If this was a rather confusing disappointment to Harry, whose Gryffindor instincts urged him to tackle the awkwardness between them and hopefully emerge with a favourable outcome, well, he didn't let it show. And if Draco had woken in the night once or twice, found himself staring across the room to where Vanima was coiled in a bubble of charmed heat he'd created for her, and heard the lingering whispers of Parseltongue that had featured so prominently in his dreams, _he _would never admit to the occurrence, and would conveniently forget about any such awakenings by morning.

So with this unspoken rule in place, it was an uneasy alliance they were starting out with, made harder by half-dead rivalries that threatened to reappear at any moment, a general air of controversy surrounding them and a tentativeness that Harry had never experienced in his other friendships. There were too many landmines to settle into any kind of comfortable relationship. He didn't know how he could trust or even like someone with whom he'd shared so much hatred in the past – and yet he _did _like Malfoy, git though he was. The Slytherin fascinated him.

Privately, Harry insisted that he wasn't attracted to Malfoy. Not like _that_, anyway. But...

At the very most, he told himself as justification, he was attracted to what Malfoy represented. The blond was everything that was rebellion and liberation and excitement and fury. He was everything that sensible people – Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore – he was everything that such people despised. Untrustworthy, dangerous, vindictive and cruel. He was the enemy.

Or had _been _the enemy, anyway. What he was now, Harry had no idea, and was finding it difficult to determine.

This in mind, it was with no small amount of awkwardness that they conducted their suddenly public friendship. Almost the whole of Gryffindor, with maybe only the exception of Hermione, thought Harry had lost his mind. No, strike that – the entire _school _thought he'd lost his mind, teachers included. And it had only been a few days. He dreaded to think what would happen once lessons resumed, and the spread of gossip would only move faster.

Still, he was not yet ready to abandon the blonde. He knew what it was like to feel outcast – he'd spent the majority of his second year outcast, and life with the Dursleys was even worse. Watching the way Slytherin now treated their former prince, as well as the way the other Houses were seizing the opportunity to even out the score against the blond, Harry knew it was probably only his presence at Draco's side that had prevented the werewolf from being hexed into oblivion by students bearing grudges.

Not that he doubted Draco could take care of himself. In fact, his presence served a dual purpose in also making sure the blond didn't hurt someone else in retaliation. God only knew what kind of curse he'd resort to if caught up in anger, Harry thought, absently touching the hairline scar that dissected his chest, courtesy of the Slytherin's previous spellwork.

Harry had to smile at the irony. There he was, the Wizarding World's Saviour, protecting a werewolf, an almost-Death Eater, the only other wizard beside Voldemort to have left the mark of his curse on Harry's flesh, and, really, a thoroughly spoilt, insensitive prat, when it came down to it .

When the blond had caught sight of his expression as he thought this over, and demanded in a snappish manner to know why he was wearing such an idiotic smile, Harry had only shaken his head indulgently and proceeded to ignore the tirade of scorn that followed.

Currently, the pair sat in the courtyard just outside the entrance of the school. Harry was freezing, the winter chill having solidly set in now, but Draco had been insistent, announcing in his melodramatic way that he simply _had _to be outside. To be fair, it _was_ growing stifling inside amid the swirling rumours and miasma of resentment that Draco had brought upon himself.

The blond now perched upon one of the stone benches built into the wall, his long legs stretched out across it, taking up any space Harry might have hoped to occupy, so the Gryffindor stood nearby, bracing his shoulder against the wall, his arms folded tightly around himself to conserve heat. He wondered with vague incredulity how Draco could stand the cold with apparent ease. The other boy was dressed to his usual impeccable standards with fitted jumper, knee-length black coat and Slytherin scarf, which was drawn up around his chin, yet none of it looked exceedingly _warm_. And still, the git didn't so much as shiver. If it hadn't been for the puffs of warm breath that misted the brittle air – and if he didn't have first-hand experience that proved otherwise – he might have thought his companion offered no heat at all, and was in fact as cold and hard as the stone he sat upon.

Watching him, fixated by how the winter atmosphere seemed to leech what little colour he usually retained, except for small, flattering patches of pink high on his cheeks, Harry was caught off guard when grey eyes suddenly flashed towards him, and twitched guiltily, though for the life of him he couldn't say why.

"So why are you here, Potter?"

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes. "Because you bloody well demanded we come out here! You'll notice everyone else – everyone _sane_ – is inside, where it's warm!"

Draco's expression didn't change, remaining oddly serious – an unusual occurrence. Harry had learned that though the Slytherin actually did have a range of expressions beyond disdain, he was rarely calm enough to be serious.

"No, I mean... why are you still _here_?" The blond waved a hand in some casual gesture, vaguely indicating himself. He looked away. "...With me?"

"Oh." Harry blinked. He'd asked himself that very question, and been pestered by his friends almost constantly on the matter, but had yet to find a satisfactory answer. Not one he was willing to admit to, anyway. Yes, he liked Draco – probably more than he should – but couldn't say that, and he very much doubted that the Slytherin would be willing to listen to a speech about his own misplaced sense of responsibility.

So he shrugged, trying to brush off the conversation before it became too deep for comfort. Funny, how Gryffindor courage had suddenly fled him. Again. Why was it that only Draco could get such a reaction from him?

But it seemed that, this once, they'd switched roles, and the blond was determined to pursue the topic. "I'm serious. It's not like this is your problem, you know. Not so long ago you'd have been telling me I deserved this. Let's face it, you'd have _loved _it. What's changed?"

It was Harry's turn to look away. "You know what's changed," he muttered, embarrassed.

"So that's it? You think... you think that we're... that we'll –"

"Oh, no. No! That's not what I meant. You already said you weren't..." Trailing off, he sighed and shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant."

Guardedly, the blond stared up at him. "Then what? Because I hope you know that _that's _not going to be some kind of... reward for your good deed, you know."

Harry glared. "I _know_," he ground out, thinking it wise not to rise to the bait right now, even though he could have pointed out that Malfoy hadn't exactly been protesting the other night. "Look, do we have to have this conversation? Can't you just accept that you have one friend you probably don't deserve, and you're damn lucky at that –"

"Friend?" Grey eyes pinned him sternly. "Is that what you call yourself?"

Harry's stomach clenched. "I figure I've earned the right," he retorted stubbornly, lifting his chin.

Blond eyebrows rose sharply. "I thought I told you once that I wouldn't join your leagues of adoring fans, Potter."

"Yeah, because that's what friendship means." Curling his lip, the Gryffindor pushed away from the wall and ran a hand through his hair, stressed. He didn't want this conversation right now.

Draco shrugged. "That's what it meant for me. Only _I _was the one with adoring fans." He half smirked at that comment, but the expression turned bitter.

"And look where that got you," Harry shot back, only to wish he hadn't as soon as the words left his mouth. He watched as defences rapidly reformed behind the Slytherin's eyes. "Sorry. I –"

"It's cold. Let's go inside." And with that, the blond rose to his feet, brushed past him and disappeared quickly into the foyer, leaving Harry to trail reluctantly behind.

xxx

At the same time, Hermione was several floors up sitting in the library, surrounded by stacks of open books. And for once, they weren't homework related. No, instead she was researching Malfoy's problem, fully aware that he and Harry were probably sat around doing nothing while she slaved away. She tutted to herself, exasperated.

That thought caused her to look up sharply, frowning. It occurred to her that Ron was supposed to be included in that scenario, not the Slytherin, but she had little time or energy to dedicate to the worry.

Shaking her head, she went back to her work, scanning the words before her and filing them away to memory. So far, none of what she'd discovered was very helpful. Though she'd been right in assuming that some spells effected werewolves differently, that assumption still hadn't been of any use, since she knew Harry certainly hadn't cursed Malfoy.

Tired, she broke off to rub her eyes, yet again asking herself why she was expending so much effort on fixing _Malfoy's _problems. But, of course, she knew. In doing this, she was helping Harry. And besides, it was only right that _someone_ remove whatever curse it was afflicting the blond, and she doubted anyone else would have the inclination.

But there was just so much information spread out before her, and the answer potentially hidden in any tiny part of it. Maybe she was looking in the wrong direction anyway, and the compulsions were entirely unrelated to him being a werewolf. Maybe–

Wait.

Some thought, memory, on the edge of her mind, niggling her.

Suddenly alert and active again, she stood and grabbed a book from the far side of the table, dragging it back towards her and frantically flipping through the pages. She'd seen something, some reference to a possibility so ridiculous, so remote, that she'd paid it no mind at the time, until now, when a single word in another book had set her mind spinning. She knew this feeling of realisation, recognised it as the same feeling she got when she finally understood a spell, or completed a potion. Knowledge clicked into place, bit by bit, only a few gaps left that were about to be filled in. But for the first time, the feeling completely clashed with common sense. The idea forming in her mind, suggested by the book in front of her, was just too _impossible_. Surely!

And yet, there it was in front of her, literally in black and white. Every symptom described, every question answered, all in a concise little paragraph. Three times she read it, just to be sure, all the while shaking her head in denial.

Finally, though, she sat back in her chair, stunned. So she had found their cure.

Malfoy would probably have been happier if she hadn't.

Grabbing up the book, she dashed from the library with it clutched protectively to her chest, racing to find the werewolf and his mate. God. What a thought...

xxx

They met in the halls. It was as Ron was storming out of the Hall, and Draco stalking back inside, and Harry trudging behind, and Hermione flying down from the library. The meeting seemed almost designed, as each rounded respective corners to set eyes on the others. Only Harry showed surprise, having forgotten that his friend was due back today. He started to smile, until he registered the expression of thunder on the redhead's face. Hermione reached him first, also recognising the anger and trying to calm it, but he ignored her, eyes set firmly on the Slytherin in their midst.

Harry steeled himself for the ensuing argument, subtly placing a hand on the blonde's wrist, who had immediately tensed and gone for his wand. Draco glanced at him scathingly, but relented for the moment, allowing his hands to fall empty at his sides.

Ron was not so easily soothed. Before Harry or Hermione could intervene, he'd whipped out his own wand and had it pointed squarely at the Slytherin's throat, much the same as Hermione had done back in third year. Outwardly calm as ever, Draco lifted an eyebrow, gazing back coldly at the Gryffindor. Only Harry sensed he was struggling furiously not to lash out with his own magic, and was silently thankful that the blond had some self-control.

"What the _fuck _are you playing at?" Ron raged at him instantly, voice and hand shaking with the anger coursing through him at that moment.

"I have no idea what you're referring to, Weasley," Draco drawled quietly, inserting so much scorn into the simple line that Harry suddenly found it all too easy to remember why they'd clashed so forcefully with Malfoy over the years. With an effort, he pushed the thought from his head and stepped forward with the intent to mediate.

"Ron, calm down –"

"_Don't _tell me to calm down!" Furious now, the redhead never removed his wand from its positioning, even as he turned a glare on Harry. "You said it was only going to be for the DA! You said you weren't going to be... _friends _with this bastard!"

The Slytherin sneered, and spoke just before Harry could elbow him into silence. "He developed taste in your absence – ow!" Reproachful, he narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor, who looked back with exasperation.

"Ron!" Hermione cried suddenly, having seen the look that had come into the redhead's eyes that the other two had missed.

Harry whipped his head back toward the other boy, instantly seeing his options. There was a curse on Ron's tongue, already half cast, and though it probably wasn't one that would do serious damage, there was no time for Draco to avoid or counter it. Without thinking, he was abruptly between them, reaching out to grasp his friend's wrist and force it upwards. A spell hit the ceiling, ricocheting harmlessly but managing to create chaotic noise and sparks around them. Hermione was shrieking in shock and outrage, Ron yelling senselessly and Draco losing all sense of superiority as he let loose a spiel of the foulest language Harry could remember hearing.

He could deal with all that, but unfortunately he hadn't been counting on his friend's temper being so out of control and directed at _him_, for once. The fist to his stomach took him completely by surprise, and immediately he let go of the other boy's arm, doubling over with a gasp. And then, with detached astonishment, he realised he was staring down the wrong end of Ron's wand, and had a split second to realise there was absolutely nothing he could do, before the next thoroughly unexpected thing occurred.

An arm snaked swiftly around his waist and he was yanked backwards and spun around. Disorientated, he might have stumbled, but the arm that was almost crushing the breath from him didn't allow for movement.

"Don't you point that fucking thing at him, Weasley!" The next thing to be heard, following the werewolf's furiously protective growl, was the deafening crack of a wordless spell, and suddenly Ron had flown backwards to land hard on the ground, his wand clattering away from him.

Hermione was a mess of mingled horror and astonishment. There was some part of her that was concerned for the redhead and wanted to run and check on him, but it had to be said that, for the most part, she was finding it far too difficult to remove her eyes from the other two.

If she needed confirmation of her suspicions, she'd just received it.

Malfoy had yet to relinquish his hold on Harry, and didn't seem likely to any time soon. Seconds ago, she'd not only witnessed her friend step between Malfoy and an oncoming curse, but when the tables had turned, she thought she'd seen the impossible. Harry had been grasped and swept aside with such a casual strength on the blonde's part that it was unnerving, whirled around so that he was facing away from the altercation about to ensue and kept in place quite easily. The Slytherin's body language positively screamed possessiveness. He was stood at an angle, so that he could press Harry to his side while placing himself in the line of fire, his wand appearing from nowhere in a steadily outstretched hand. Having seen the briefest flash of fangs when Malfoy had snarled his warning, Hermione was almost inclined to think Ron was lucky that the blond had resorted to magic first. Even in human form, she dreaded to think what damage an angry werewolf could inflict if given reason enough.

Attacking his mate was definitely reason enough, she realised, looking at him now.

Characteristics of the wolf, once risen to the surface, were apparently difficult to get rid of. His eyes were ice white, unnatural and eerie to those who looked upon him, and fixed unwaveringly on the person he deemed a threat. He made no movement, frozen and tense, as if simply waiting to burst back into motion. She'd once seen an Alsatian fighting in the park with another dog, seen it frozen just like that as it waited for its opponent's next move, just before the two met with frightening snarls and clashing teeth. Its ears had been pinned back, eyes wide, and lip curled back to show the row of vicious fangs. She felt very certain she was staring at the human translation of that expression.

Harry was obviously thinking along the same lines. Slowly, as if he too felt the instinct to make no sudden movements, he reached down and brushed his fingers over the hand that clutched at his shirt. When that brought no reaction, he grasped it tightly. "Draco?"

She imagined a canine ear would have twitched to show he was listening, but in this form he turned his head just slightly, never taking his eyes or his wand from Ron, who was starting to stir. Seeing this, she edged closer to him, just hoping to get there and stop him doing anything stupid if he woke up. Passing by the Slytherin made her hesitate, but he didn't so much as acknowledge her existence, so she assumed herself safe and hurried to kneel by the redhead. It was a miracle no one had heard the chaos yet. She just hoped it would last. It wouldn't do for someone to come across _this _particular scene.

"Draco, for God's sake, I'm okay. C'mon, let go. Calm down." Finally, he managed to pry loose the fingers entangled in the material of his shirt and could turn around to face the blond. At his movement, the werewolf hesitated, then consented to turn his back on Ron and Hermione, pinning shockingly blue eyes on the rather shaken Gryffindor. They scanned him thoroughly, as if to check he wasn't lying and confirm he really was unharmed. Harry stared back incredulously. "What the _hell_...?"

Adrenaline fading, it seemed Draco was returning to normality. He blinked a few times, eyes resuming their natural grey. Then, frowning, he looked over his shoulder to where Ron lay, Hermione crouching over him as he groaned. For a moment, he looked as shocked as any of them. "Did I...?"

Wide eyed, Harry filled in for him, "Completely overreact? Yes. Yes, you did." Perplexed, he moved past the astounded Slytherin to join Hermione in checking on the redhead.

Ron was blinking up at the ceiling when he reached him. "Harry?" he muttered upon seeing the boy, his voice sounding vaguely slurred.

Sighing, he crouched down and began the process of hauling him to his feet. "Yeah, it's me. Let's get you back to Gryffindor, okay?" Ron made some grunt of agreement, and with an effort, Harry managed to get him up. Struggling under the taller boy's weight, he managed to cast a glance at Draco. "What the hell did you do to him?"

The blond shook his head, lost. "I... I don't really know..." In his mind, the last minute or so was surrounded in a haze. He didn't even remember casting a spell, never mind what that spell had actually _been_.

Scowling, Harry turned away and began half leading, half dragging Ron towards the nearest flight of stairs. Hermione faltered, instinctively moving to follow him, but pausing to cast a glance at the blond. She sighed when she saw his expression of utter confusion and hurt, that was swiftly hidden behind the usual mask when he caught her watching. Harry didn't seem to notice her absence, so she stepped toward the Slytherin.

"What is it Granger?" he snapped, venomous.

"There's something I need to tell you. It might even go a way to explaining what just happened." Businesslike, she handed him the library book that had somehow remained with her throughout the chaos.

He looked at it short temperedly, not in the mood for study when all his nerves were on standby, made edgy by an unfinished fight. "What's this?"

"I think we should go somewhere a little more private," she advised quietly. "You're not going to like this."


	30. When Silence Means Everything

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 30**: When Silence Means Everything

xxx

After a profound and extended silence, the only thing Draco could really think to respond with was, "...Excuse me?"

Hermione lifted one shoulder in apology. "I told you that you wouldn't like it."

The blond stared at her, uncomprehending. After a while, he shook his head sharply. "Wait. No. What?"

She sighed and pointed down at the book in her lap. Next to her, perched anxiously on the very edge of the couch, the Slytherin craned his neck to peer at the writing she was indicating. "Look, it says right here. I didn't believe it either, at first, but it explains _everything_. Well, almost everything. I would have assumed, by now, you'd have felt some kind of attraction to –"

"_What_? No! _**No**_!" Abruptly, he was on his feet, pacing away from her, hand grasping his usually immaculate hair and leaving it standing up in tufts. "Granger, I asked you to find me a _cure_, not make this curse ten times worse!"

For the moment, she decided, she'd indulge his temper, since she had just delivered a blow. "Yes, and I found you one, even if it's not what you wanted to hear."

Expression wild, he turned on her. "Understatement, don't you think? How can you possibly believe that he's my...? That I'm his...? Merlin, I can't even say it," he added in disgust.

She shrugged, and said bluntly, watching him cringe, "Well it's true. You and Harry are mates." She thought for a moment, glancing down at the pages in her lap. "Really, I suppose it's not _that _surprising. You two have always... revolved around each other. It makes sense that the wolf would pick on a pre-prepared connection like that."

"And what does all this have to do with the compulsions?"

"See, that's the interesting bit. It's fascinating, really –"

"It's nothing of the sort!"

"Like a defence mechanism," she went on, as if he hadn't interrupted. "The wolf in you is protecting its own interests, if you want to think of it like that. You see, it fears that if you had your own way, you wouldn't accept its mate."

Draco stared at her in horror. "So, what? It's going to _make _me?"

"Not exactly." She paused, trying to think of a clear, concise explanation. "Think of it as a conflict of interests. The wolf wants Harry, you don't. It's worried that you'll push him too far away, so it's trying to ensure that Harry has the power to keep you in check. There are documented cases of similar occurrences. You're very lucky in that Harry wouldn't take advantage of you, you know. I've been reading about incidents where –"

"I'm not a case study, thank you." The Slytherin looked exhausted, leaning against the mantelpiece at the other side of the room. "Simplify it, Ganger. How do I make it stop?"

She bit her lip. Even she felt sympathy, for a second. "Well... There are two options. Either you go on the way you have, with Harry's word that he won't abuse this power. Or..."

"Or? Or what?"

The witch shrugged again. "Or you accept him as your mate, the wolf is reassured and it ends the compulsions."

He gaped at her. "_What_? But that's... that's like blackmail or something!"

She nodded. "It's ingenious, when you think about it. There aren't any other magical creatures with such a developed system –"

"_Developed_? This is... this is pure evil! This is malicious!" Distressed, Draco covered his eyes and sucked in air, desperately trying to calm himself. "I _will not _be forced into this! How can you just sit there and read it all out like it's nothing? You _condone _this?"

She snorted. "God, no. To put I very bluntly, Malfoy, I think you're yet another horrible inconvenience that Harry doesn't really need."

He stared at her, surprised into stillness. "Cold, aren't you?"

Hermione smiled. "Sometimes. In all honesty, I think Harry would be better off without having to worry about a psychotic werewolf who attacks his friends at the slightest provocation."

The Slytherin's jaw dropped. "I didn't mean –"

"Even so," she cut him off, closing the book with a snap and standing up. "I'll leave this here. I suggest you read it, maybe research a way to control yourself."

"Granger –!"

"I won't tell Harry. That's up to you. I've found you your cure; take it or leave it." She turned and headed for the portrait door.

For a moment, Draco could only watch her leave. Then, returning to himself, he strode after her. "Hey."

She paused, waiting expectantly.

"What exactly are you telling me to do? You think it's better to leave things as they are?"

"...The situation you're in isn't ideal, but at least this way... no one's getting hurt."

Ah. So that was it. This, apparently, was Granger's version of a warning. She thought Harry would reject him, if a situation ever arose in which he was given a choice. Nice bit of information to have.

"You don't know what would happen if... if I told him," he felt the need to protest, defiant to the last.

She nodded once, conceding, but then shrugged. "You have one friend in the world right now. Can you take the chance of alienating him?"

Sneering, he turned away from her and listened as the portrait opened and closed, and he was alone. Slowly, he sank down onto the couch and picked up the book she'd left behind. He really was going to have to read up on being a werewolf, because he didn't think he could take any more surprises...

xxx

Meanwhile, Harry gasped with relief as he was finally able to release Ron's dead weight, dumping his friend on the common room couch and standing back to rotate his shoulder. This – he swore to himself, all the while knowing it was a lie – would be the last time he dealt with the aftermath of one of Malfoy's ridiculously unique curses. God only knew what the blonde's spell had done, but it had Ron acting as if he were barely conscious, though Harry couldn't find a single visible symptom. Not even a head wound from the fall he'd taken.

"Wha' happ'ned...?" Ron mumbled as he lay reeling, slumping until he rested on his side, his head pillowed by the armrest.

Sighing, Harry moved to grab a stool and dragged it across the carpet until he could perch before the prone redhead. He rested his elbow and on his knee and his chin in his hand. "Malfoy," he said simply.

A flicker of a scowl crossed the other boy's face. "Bastard..." he said dazedly. "Least there're no slugs this time."

Harry smiled at the memory. "Yeah, well. I doubt you'll be this grateful when you're back to normal."

"Mm," Ron agreed compliantly, closing his eyes with a slight wince. He shifted, apparently to get more comfortable. Harry stood up, seeing that the redhead was on the verge of sleep. Ron's muffled voice made him pause. "So. You really friends with him then?"

Harry hesitated before responding. "Yeah," he said eventually, nodding. "Yeah. Sorry, mate."

"Hn," Ron grunted. "He's still a git."

"You're telling me..."

xxx

Severus had the odd experience of watching his teenage self hurry past in pursuit of – God help him – Lily Evans. He half cringed watching the spectacle and remembering, despite himself, the pathetic mess of frustration and hormones and affection she'd always managed to turn him into without seeming to try. Had those feelings always been so obvious to those watching them together? Because the display disgusted him now. He could almost – _almost _– understand why Potter and Black had felt the need to pick on him so incessantly back in the day, if he'd constantly looked as he did in this particular memory.

With that thought, he glanced around, looking for Remus in the scene. The boy was stood with his back to a nearby wall, arms clutching a stack of books. He was alone, and though he was in plain sight, not at all obscured by shadow or alcove, it seemed none of the students passing by noticed him. Even Lily, a close friend, didn't so much as glance his way, and the younger Severus, caught up in the wonder of talking to the vibrant girl who'd always captivated him, practically walked into the werewolf and still didn't acknowledge his presence.

That surprised the Potions Master. Hadn't he always prided himself on being observant? No, he hadn't _liked _the quietest Marauder any more than he'd liked the other three, but he felt certain he should have at least noticed him.

After all, he knew what it was like to be ignored so thoroughly. Even being met with hatred was better than a complete lack of acknowledgement.

Besides, Severus found it hard to believe he'd never noticed someone who watched him like _that_.

The werewolf wore the same expression as he had in the first memory Severus had glimpsed, showing the two of them in the library where Remus had watched him over a book; it was the same expression he'd seen Weasley wear around Granger, when he thought no one else was watching. And, seeing it now, it was both unnerving and oddly flattering to know that someone, anyone, had wanted _his _attention. True, Lily had treated him like a friend – no, more like an acquaintance. But she'd worn his infatuation like an accessory, and merely tolerated his persistent presence at her side. He found he could admit these things now, in such distant retrospect.

Unexpectedly, he felt a tiny surge of guilt to realise he'd somehow earned a similar dedication without ever knowing.

Uncomfortable, he swiftly withdrew from the scene and ended the session. Opposite him, Lupin rubbed his eyes, leaned back against the chair behind him and murmured, "Finally tired of investigating my memories?"

The Potions Master tilted an eyebrow. He had thought he was being subtle in his examinations.

The other man caught sight of his expression and laughed a little. "You're a Slytherin. I would have been suspicious if you _weren't _taking advantage of this situation. See anything interesting?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, watching his companion carefully. He thought first of how he had noted the werewolf's suddenly submissive attitude around his supposed mate, and then of the mysterious expression he'd glimpsed seconds ago, and his own conflicted feelings on the matter. Still, it would not do to mention any of that.

He waited silently, expecting Lupin to get up and flee the room as he usually did. Neither of them moved, and Severus, to his annoyance, could feel his own curiosity rising.

Eventually, he just had to ask.

"Purely out of morbid fascination, _why _are you persisting in this ludicrous attraction, Lupin?"

The werewolf looked shocked, for a moment. He sat up straighter, shifting to stretch the stiffness from his crossed legs. He seemed to be considering, and after a while, shrugged. "In all honesty, I've asked myself the same question before now, and I have no idea. I _am _aware that it's hardly conductive to my own self-preservation." He half smiled, wryly.

Severus frowned. "Besides which, I was under the impression that your kind _mated _for life."

"We do."

"In which case, it occurs to me that your clumsy come-ons are even more pointless than I first assumed." He tilted his head, finding this a perfectly valid point, even though Lupin gaped at him incredulously in response.

"My clumsy _what_? Severus! I rarely say a word to you! You talk like I... I _harass _you or something!"

The Potions Master snorted. "As if you could, Lupin. No, my point was simply why –" He stopped, caught off guard to find himself flustered. Impatiently swiping the emotion aside, he started again, toning his voice to an unimpressed drawl. "Why are you interested? Especially since you've already known your mate. I would have thought it to be... impossible."

Lupin stared at him intently. Severus thought he looked more animated than usual, even a little angry. "I'm more than my curse, you know," the werewolf suddenly snapped. "You never understood that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means – Oh never mind!" Obviously frustrated, Lupin rose to his feet with a scowl.

Perplexed, the Potions Master copied the motion, vaguely wondering what the hell had just happened. For once, he'd been quite certain he hadn't insulted the other man. Or hadn't been trying to, anyway.

"Lupin, for God's sake – Ah!" Without warning, the pain hit him. He winced and clapped a hand to his forearm, which burned beneath the material of his robes. Yanking up the sleeve, he eyed the disfiguring tattoo that now shone darkly and seemed to writhe on his flesh. "Death Eater meeting," he ground out through gritted teeth.

Lupin went white. "It's time, isn't it?" he asked faintly. "Am I ready?"

Severus regarded him evenly. "You'll have to be. You know the story, the theory. All you have to do is keep my defences at the front of your mind. Can you do that?"

The werewolf closed his eyes, and visibly gathered his nerve. "Yes," he answered, when he could.

The Potions Master nodded, and moved toward the fireplace, reaching out to grasp a pinch of the Floo Powder that rested on the mantelpiece. "I'll inform the Headmaster that we're moving now, and then you can Floo down to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there. You remember where you're going? Good. Now, you heard from me where the meetings were held, during one of my reports to Dumbledore, and tonight you just happened to be nearby when my Mark activated and took the opportunity –"

"Severus, I know. We've gone over this a hundred times."

"Forgive me if I doubt your acting skills!" he barked back. "I know how close you keep your emotions to the surface. You damn well better keep them in check tonight!"

Remus stopped short of snarling some retaliation. He narrowed his eyes at the other man, who paused in turn, hesitating with the green powder in his hand.

"What?" Severus asked suspiciously when he failed to translate the sudden silence. "Are you having second thoughts? This won't work if you're having second –"

"No, it's not that. It's just... you're _worried _about me."

The Slytherin sneered. "I'm worried about the _mission_, Lupin. The distinction is quite clear."

Remus might have pushed the point, but suddenly his eyes widened. "Merlin, I haven't talked to Harry yet! I meant to tell him before now, I just didn't think it would come so soon and I wasn't sure how he'd take it. And there's Draco. Severus, I need –"

"Not _now_, there's no time. I'll be sure to inform Potter of the situation, if you insist he needs to know. And I'm sure he'll tell Draco; the two have been spending a sickening amount of time together lately."

The werewolf hesitated, but conceded to the logic. "Just... don't be cruel to him this once," he pleaded, before moving toward the door. "I'll take another fireplace while you're updating the Headmaster. And Severus?"

Exasperated, the Potions Master turned to look at him, raising an expectant eyebrow. Then, for a horrible moment, he was sure the man was about to do something horribly dramatic and Gryffindorish in a fit of nobility. Like try to kiss him.

His alarm must have shown on his face, as Lupin suddenly grinned, amused. "Wish me luck," was all he said.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Luck will do you no favours," he muttered, watching the werewolf disappear from his rooms and listening to the hurried footsteps fade away from his hearing. Only when he was certain the man was truly gone did he relent, and whispered barely audibly, "...Luck."

Then he tossed the shower of green powder into the flames and summoned Dumbledore.

xxx

It had been hours since Granger left, and still Draco had barely moved from the spot where he'd sat down immediately after her departure. He'd gotten up once, to go to the bathroom, and once more to change into pyjamas after a quick _Tempus _charm revealed that it was well into late evening. Now he curled comfortably at one end of the couch, the heavy book she'd left behind balanced on the armrest and open to a point past the midway mark. He'd been reading furiously ever since deciding to learn more about his own affliction, half hoping to find some loophole that the witch had missed.

Common sense told him that wouldn't happen, but still he tried.

Yet even as he despairingly sought some escape from his apparent fate, her words echoed in his head – the carefully worded warning that, when put bluntly, meant that she thought Harry would have nothing to do with him if he knew – and, to his horror, the dread that the very prospect caused made him sick to his stomach.

And she was right, wasn't she? He should have learned by now that Potter would never place him top priority, as proven by the display earlier that morning. _Twice_ now he'd been rejected in favour of Weasley. Mixed-signal-sending bastard! So much for that 'friend' crap...

So, bitterly, the Slytherin resignedly studied every word of the book before him, hoping for but not really expecting an escape from his predicament. It was just too perfectly ironic _not _to be true.

It startled him out of his trance to hear a knock from outside the portrait. He stood with difficulty, cursing when one leg immediately went dead and just about managing to limp across the expanse of the room.

When the frame swung open, for some reason he hadn't expected to see Potter, even though there were few others with a reason to visit him. So, for a few seconds, he merely blinked in surprise, not yet registering the expression the Gryffindor wore.

"Why'd you knock?" was the first inane question to come out of his mouth when he finally spoke. "You usually just walk on in... Are you okay?" Belatedly, it occurred to him that the usually animated boy was pale and quite visibly tense, barely moving at all, and his eyes were wide and terribly dark behind his ridiculous frames.

"He's going to Voldemort," Harry said, without preamble.

Draco winced and stared at the Gryffindor, scandalised. "What? Who?" Even as he spoke, he reached out and dragged the other inside, making sure the portrait shut firmly behind them.

"Remus," was the strained answer. "He's going _tonight_, to be... to be a spy! _Snape_, of all people, just told me!" He buried both his hands in his hair, pulling in distress. "No warning, no goodbye, he's just... gone."

The blond stared at him in confusion. "Potter, they've been preparing for ages. You mean no one told you?"

Green eyes flew toward him, devastated. "What? They've... _what_?" His shock was so strong that it was obvious this was the first he was hearing of anything.

Draco shrugged. "I assumed you knew and just didn't want to talk about it," he defended himself honestly.

"But... They told _you_ and not _me_?" He looked anguished by the unfairness of it, by the entire situation, and Draco could sympathise. It had always concerned him no end whenever Severus had been away for extended periods.

He shook his head. "No one told me, either. I just noticed that Severus and Lupin started meeting ever since Severus lost his job as spy. And unless they're carrying on an illicit love affair – unlikely, at best – it made the most sense that they were preparing for Lupin to take his place."

"How could you possibly work that out?"

"I was put in Slytherin for a reason, Harry. It wasn't just the name 'Malfoy'." Sighing, he moved to return to his spot on the couch, dropping down bonelessly.

It seemed the Gryffindor only then looked at him properly, noticing the open book and pyjamas, the tired circles beneath tired eyes. "Oh, sorry. I didn't think about disturbing you..."

Cross legged, with the book in his lap, Draco glanced up at the other scathingly. "Just sit down. You put me on edge, hovering like that."

It was such a normal, trivial little criticism that Harry felt a rush of relief for the blond. This was why he'd come here, because the Slytherin understood. Hermione's nerves would have been infectious, and Ron's bad attempts at reassurance even worse. He couldn't stand their presence right now, but he needed Draco's.

Crossing to where the blond sat, he lowered himself into place next to him, fighting strangely clashing sensations of restlessness and exhaustion. His hands clenched, digging anxiously into the couch cushions he sat upon as nervous, angry energy surged through him. He was going to _kill _Remus if he came back alive! How could he have done this when he was the only adult Harry had left? He hadn't even had the decency to _ask_! To give him some warning, some chance to prepare–

The touch made him start, and he looked down sharply as long, pale fingers firmly pried loose the fist he'd made and insistently tangled with his own. In shock, he stared at the blond, but Draco's eyes had never left the page, as if he had no idea of what his hand was doing of its own accord. He said nothing, merely continued to read, and yet his hold was so tight that Harry had no choice but to grip back, and did so thankfully.

"I don't want to sleep," he whispered suddenly, the admission unprompted.

The Slytherin's fingers squeezed once, but it was enough. Then don't, the small gesture said. We'll wait.

And so they waited, sleepless and silent.


	31. The Other Side of Slytherins

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 31**: The Other Side of Slytherins

xxx

It was well past midnight, Severus was sure, though he hadn't checked the exact time in quite a while. About six minutes, in fact. His wand lay on the desk nearby, ready and waiting for yet another _Tempus _charm, due any minute now. While he waited, he stared sullenly into the amber liquid at the bottom of a glass tumbler, idly swirling it and watching the dim light of the room flash burgundy and gold in its depths. It was rare that he drank these days, but he'd felt tonight called for a drop of liquid courage.

He was finding that he didn't do well staying behind to worry and wonder about events he wasn't a part of. Used to being in the very thick of things, experiencing the thrill and the knowledge that he could be caught at any moment, his very life dependant on his own skills as a wizard and a spy, no one else besides himself trustworthy...

He sighed. Now, irony of ironies, here he was relying on _Lupin_ to do the job that was rightfully his. And it was a farce, that was for sure. A _Gryffindor_ playing spy as if it was some childhood game. Who'd ever heard of such an atrocity? Lupin was going to get himself killed or maimed or something equally tragic – not that he didn't deserve the fitting martyr-like ending. It was probably something he'd always dreamed of, a one-shot at glory for the pathetic little man. Yet Severus couldn't help but think of the past weeks of hell he'd been forced to tolerate the werewolf, and what a waste it would all have been if the idiot went and died now...

And that, he told himself, was all that concerned him. Well, perhaps that and the fact that Lupin still owed a debt to Draco. He certainly wasn't worried for the man on a personal level.

He cast _Tempus _and found it was now a quarter to one. The werewolf was late. Very late. It had been around seven when he'd left, and the Dark Lord didn't usually extend his meetings longer than necessary, even when something unexpected occurred – like the unprompted arrival of a bitter werewolf. Shouldn't he be back by now... if he was coming back at all?

Frustrated, he downed what was left of the drink in his glass, felt it burning the back of his throat, and rose to his feet, agitatedly tapping his wand against his leg as he began pacing the cramped little room. He was restless. He wanted to be out there, wanted the adrenaline of walking on the proverbial knife edge.

More than that, he _wanted to know what was happening_! Merlin, this was torture. Had Lupin succeeded in his subterfuge, incredible though the thought was? If so, why had he been delayed for this amount of time? Oh God, what if the Dark Lord had demanded a test of loyalty from the wolf? Lupin would fail it, of course he would. He didn't have the backbone to do what was necessary. If asked to prove himself, maybe even hurt someone...

The Potions Master hurriedly placed a steadying hand on the back of a chair, suddenly certain that the werewolf was even now lying dead in a ditch somewhere, the Dark Mark emblazoned in the sky above his head.

No! No, for God's sake, he was being ridiculous. _Of course _it would take some time to gain the Lord's trust. That was all. Lupin would return soon enough, smug and self-confident now that he'd finally succeeded in this one thing, despite the fact that, really, Severus had hand-led him through everything so far.

Except this. He couldn't help him through this, could he? And that was the dilemma that had already driven him to drink.

With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair – a habit he thought he'd cured himself of years ago – and forced himself to return to his seat. Another glass was poured, mostly to keep anxious hands occupied, and Severus sat back to watch the dully glowing embers of his fire, almost willing them to turn green and signal the werewolf's return. Though the Headmaster had previously requested that Lupin Floo straight to his office upon his return, Severus knew with the certainty of someone who'd submerged himself in the man's mind and motives that that would not be the case.

If he came back, Remus would come here first.

xxx

Harry could not allow himself to think about Remus anymore. His frantic worries had occupied him for hours and were driving him mad. Every muscle in him was tense, every nerve on edge with the need to be _doing _something. He'd asked – read: demanded – that Snape let him know the moment the werewolf got back, and was sure that he would have heard word by now if Remus was already safely up in the Hospital Wing, or the Headmaster's office. However, since he had yet to hear anything, that meant that the man was still far from safety, and he was fighting the urge to go pound on the Potion Master's door, just to check...

So he'd come to the conclusion that he had to distract himself, lest his own thoughts drive him to that irrational, desperate action which he was still half considering.

There were only two living, breathing distractions that were an option to him right now. One of them, though he'd tried valiantly, was asleep on the couch opposite Harry. The Gryffindor half smiled as he glanced across at the blonde, whose head was pillowed on the book he'd been reading earlier. He had to admit, Draco had put up a real effort in trying to remain awake for him – though he'd summon up a glare of lethal proportions if Harry ever tried to thank him for the support, and deny it forcefully. It was only about twenty minutes ago that he'd finally lost the fight with sleep and slumped sideways, curling up in a surprisingly neat ball of limbs. Harry had gently disengaged his hand – which the Slytherin had somehow maintained his hold on without acknowledgement – and rose from the couch. He'd frowned for a moment, debating, before heading into the little hallway he'd never dared enter before now and stepping into the other boy's bedroom.

He'd intended only to take the cover from the bed and go drape it around the sleeping werewolf, but, of course, he couldn't help his eyes wandering and interest rising as soon as he entered.

The decor was, inevitably, Slytherin themed, but Harry had been surprised to note the dark greens and greys were far more soothing than he would have expected. Where his room – red and gold and mahogany – was warm and comfortable, Draco's was... restful. Yes, that was the right word. Calm, almost relaxing – despite the clothes that had been discarded carelessly on the floor. He'd rolled his eyes at that, remembering the Slytherin's surprisingly messy tendencies, and resisted the instinct to dust off and hang up the multiple sets of robes he could see around him. Instead, his attention had drifted to the bookcase that stood against one wall and, after only a moment's hesitation, he'd moved closer to examine some of the titles.

Most had been spellbooks, which was only to be expected. He'd also found works of fiction by witches and wizards whom he'd never heard of before, and hadn't paid much attention to. No, what had really caught his eye and caused him no small amount of amusement and shock were the _muggle _fiction books hidden away on the Slytherin's shelves. For someone who'd spent his school career proclaiming from the bell tower that muggles were an inferior species, Harry was beginning to notice that Draco seemed to have adopted more of their culture than he was willing to admit to. The clothes, the books, what was next? And, taking a closer look at the range of said books, Harry had bitten a knuckle to stop from sniggering aloud. God, Malfoy was a girl, and the Gryffindor delighted to himself that he'd finally found proof in the form of an undeniably well-thumbed copy of, _"Pride and Prejudice." _

He'd eventually dragged himself away from the bookcase, however, remembering he'd entered the room with a reason. Regretfully – since it seemed to be the only neat thing in the whole room – he'd tugged the green coverlet from the mattress and bundled it into his arms. Also finding Vanima coiled on the Slytherin's pillows, and wondering if it was customary for the snake to share his bed, he'd also scooped her up and made his way back to the main room.

Now, he was curled in the armchair on the other side of the room, idly watching the rise and fall of the duvet that practically overwhelmed the boy beneath it. How unexpected, Harry thought to himself, blinking languidly. The blond actually looked... sweet, when sleeping.

A second later, he snorted. His worry for Remus must have caused him to lose his mind after all, because there was no way anyone sane would ever refer to _Malfoy _as sweet.

But then, he wasn't Malfoy anymore, was he? Even in his own head, Harry had begun to refer to the werewolf as Draco. And whereas Malfoy was a bastard, a Dark wizard and an untrustworthy snake, _Draco _was... Well, okay, he was still all of those things, but he was also the person who minded Vanima, who ran with him at full moons, who protected him from one of Ron's minor curses as if it was a matter of life and death, and who felt comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. This was the boy with his ridiculously overstocked bathroom, his overly feminine taste in literature, and, if Harry was recalling correctly, a more than minor kink for Parseltongue. He chuckled at that thought, then hesitated, frowning.

In his lap, the Vanima wriggled to get his attention. _What are you thinking? _

He sighed, almost in resignation. "_That I have very poor judgement._"

_In what?_

He answered automatically, not sure if he was trying to say 'friends' or 'boyfriends' or something else entirely, only that it translated in the snake language as, "_Mates_."

She seemed to consider this before replying. Eventually, after winding her way toward his wrist, she observed, _It doesn't seem to me you have judgement in the matter at all, poor or not. _

He frowned. "_What do you mean?_"

_Creatures such as him _– She meant Draco, he assumed – _aren't given a choice in their mates. But it's only for the good. It keeps them from making mistakes. You shouldn't worry about your judgement. _

This wasn't the first time he'd felt out of his depth when talking to Vanima. The snake spoke in riddles, yet believed he should easily understand her. He was sure she thought him stupid every time he asked for her to explain something further.

This time, though, he was thoroughly lost.

"_Are we even talking about the same thing?_" He wondered what she thought he meant by 'mates', and what on Earth she meant by saying the werewolf didn't have a choice in the matter.

If snakes could sigh or roll their eyes, he felt sure she would have done both.

"_Seriously, I think you've gotten confused. I only meant –_"

_Humans are so often clueless... _she observed, nonplussed, and no matter how much he pleaded and cajoled, refused to continue the doomed conversation.

xxx

At this late hour, Harry and Severus weren't the only individuals still awake. Not only did Dumbledore sit alone in his office, staring sadly into the pensieve before him and wondering if he'd made a mistake in sending the werewolf out into the darkness; not only did Ron lie awake in the quiet Gryffindor dormitory, furiously glaring at the empty bed next to his own and trying to ignore the jealousy that coursed through him; not only did Hermione squint by candlelight at the words of yet another heavy tome, slowly coming to dread what it might mean for Harry to be the mate of a werewolf and a Slytherin.

Aside from all these, there was one more person steadily approaching Hogwarts, walking the path that led from Hogsmeade village. The figure, clutching tightly at her dark cloak, shivered in the rain that lashed around her and stumbled, exhausted, but forced herself onwards. The turrets and towers of the castle loomed ahead of her, pinpricked with window lights and providing possibly the most welcoming sight she'd seen in far too long.

She gasped, a laugh of pure relief almost escaping her lips, but she forced it down with difficulty, afraid she wouldn't stop if she began. It seemed she'd been walking for hours along the muddy path which, in carriages, could be travelled in a fraction of the time, and she was unused to such a trying journey. Her fine clothes, the cloak pristine velvet when she'd started out, were now little more than rain-soaked, dirt-streaked, spell-torn rags. If she'd had anything left in her besides desperation, she might have felt shame for her appearance.

None of that mattered, though. Her eyes were fixed on the castle, barely blinking, as she stumbled onto the school grounds. What she needed was inside Hogwarts and she had decided that nothing, no one, was going to keep her away any longer. She'd been a fool to go along compliantly for as long as she had, but that had ended. She was here now. And that was what mattered.

The trek across open ground was the longest she'd ever made. There was no energy left for her to run, yet every nerve in her cried out to be inside that castle. It seemed to take eternity to cover the rain-soaked ground that stretched out around Hogwarts.

When she finally approached the brief flight of stone steps that led to the proud double doors, primly lifting the ruins of her skirts so as not to hinder her ascent, she felt the pull and twang of magical wards set off by her alien, unexpected presence, but didn't hesitate. She suspected that the Headmaster would not protest her arrival, though he was no doubt already aware of it.

In the silence of the deserted halls, she moved unerringly, the pace of her footfalls increasing along with her sense of urgency. Soon she was hurrying as fast as was acceptable for a lady of her class, her cloak billowing behind her as she hurtled down stone stairways and corridors, her cowl hood falling back to reveal the tangled mess of her usually pristine hair. Fear dogged her, as she expected her relief to be torn away at the last second, to encounter by chance some professor or ghost patrolling the halls, who would surely raise the alarm that Dumbledore had as of yet ignored.

Just hoping that she remembered her destination correctly, and that the first person she sought had not changed his residence since her last visit, she rounded a corner and carefully selected the door she wanted. Then, without pause, threw herself against it, pounding without dignity or grace. "Severus! _**Severus**_!"

The Potions Master had not been asleep, she felt sure, as he threw open the door within seconds, wearing the sneering expression of someone who did not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. Except, perhaps, this one. His features went blank with shock, dark eyes searching her face as if he doubted what they were telling him.

"...Narcissa?"

Narcissa Malfoy, in all her ragged glory, lifted her chin and demanded imperiously, "Where is my son?"

xxx

Harry was on the verge of sleep himself, despite his resolve to remain awake, when the portrait opened. He stirred dazedly, sitting up and turning to stare at the woman who entered.

It took him slightly longer to place her, looking so different from the last time they'd encountered each other over two years ago. Draped in a tattered black cloak, the dark blue dress beneath looking much the worse for wear, and her long blonde hair come loose from the usual upwards sweep it was worn in, instead falling in wet, curled tangles over her shoulders, he wondered if Draco's mother had ever before looked so rough in her life.

Startled by his recognition, he surged to his feet automatically, sending Vanima slithering to the floor and beneath the chair. His wand was in his hand almost of its own accord, his sleep-numbed mind registering only that she was a Malfoy and a dangerous witch indeed, if her reputation held true.

Her eyes, a shockingly familiar shade of grey, drifted toward him. If she was surprised by the sight of him, it showed only in the arch of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Her gaze was calm, evaluating, and suddenly he felt foolish for his reaction, sheepishly lowering his wand.

Another figure entered behind her. "He's in here, Narcissa – Potter! For God's sake, what are you doing here?" Snape stared at him incredulously, his expression vaguely outraged.

"I... I..." How flustering it was to explain anything, with Draco's mother listening intently.

But her interest seemed to fade swiftly – unlike Snape's, whose glare remained on him without waver – as she caught sight of the blonde on the couch, buried beneath a mountain of quilt. She stepped toward him and lowered herself until she knelt, and despite her current appearance, Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone more graceful in their movements.

He felt suddenly as if he was watching something far too personal, and glanced around for some escape. But short of moving closer to the enraged Potions Master, there was nowhere to go, and so he could only remain there awkwardly as Narcissa reached out and stroked the splay of light hair that was her family's trademark. Draco didn't wake, merely stirred slightly at the gentle touch.

The witch closed her eyes, as if she'd just received whatever reassurance she'd craved, and bowed her head close to her son's ear, her voice all too audible in the near silence of the room as she whispered, "I'm sorry, my dear."

Harry looked away, uncomfortable, as Narcissa dropped a kiss onto Draco's forehead before rising to her feet and turning to regard the other two occupants of the room. Once again her heavy stare came to rest on the sole Gryffindor among them, and she stepped toward him slowly. He tensed as she approached, wanting to back away, but the chair was too close behind him and so he could only remain frozen until she came to a halt a little distance away.

For some reason, it seemed strange for him to observe that Narcissa Malfoy was a small woman. Smaller than Draco, who Harry had once or twice teased for his slightness. Yet something about her very presence in a room made her seem taller, more important and more beautiful than anyone else. Even with her matted hair and torn dress, he wasn't ashamed to admit that the Malfoy matriarch was perhaps the most delicate creature he could recall encountering, all pale skin and large, cold eyes. It was easy to see where Draco got his looks. The white-blond hair might indeed be from Lucius, but in everything else, he was certainly his mother's son. The resemblance, now that Harry had the chance to look closely, was uncanny. Both of them formidable, cold, if they needed to be, beautiful – yes, he could admit Draco was beautiful, if he convinced himself it was merely a factual observation – and, he suspected, Slytherin down to the core.

She was staring at him intently, her eyes slightly narrowed. "My son must trust you a great deal, Mr Potter," she said abruptly, "to allow you into his private rooms, and to fall asleep with you still here. I was under the impression that you had always... disliked each other. True?"

It was Snape who answered, cutting across any ineffectual stammer that Harry might have offered. "It seems certain rivalries have been overcome in these past few months. I assure you, Narcissa, I attempted to convince Draco to reassess his choice in... _friends_." He glanced disdainfully at Harry, who glared back, daring to roll his eyes at the scornful Professor.

The witch once again lifted an eyebrow, her eyes never leaving the teen in front of her. "I must question, in that case, what is so special about you, Mr Potter, that would cause him to ignore the advice and wishes of family and friends; to instead lock himself in this school with you, if rumours are correct, as his only ally."

"He made the decision before we started talking, Mrs Malfoy," he said automatically, too late noticing Snape's look of alarm over the woman's shoulder.

Narcissa blinked, turning to observe the still sleeping Slytherin. "Is that so?" she asked of no one in particular. Then, reaching up and brushing back locks of damp hair with the same care she might use if it had been intricately styled that morning, she turned on her heel and swept from the room, saying softly over her shoulder, "I shall see the Headmaster now, Severus."

Snape remained where he was, hesitating, his expression furious. "Idiot boy," he hissed when she had left, his voice low and dangerous, so quiet it was unlikely that Narcissa overhear him from outside the room. "She will ask, now, what Draco's real motive for switching sides was, and the truth will come out. A truth that _he_ –" he pointed at the Slytherin "– never wanted his mother to realise!"

Harry flinched. "She... He wouldn't have been able to hide it forever, anyway..." he protested feebly. Then, remembering earlier events of the night, he looked up earnestly. "Is Remus back yet?"

The Potions Master looked taken aback, for a second, before scowling. Harry watched him murmur a quick time-telling charm beneath his breath, glancing anxiously in the direction Narcissa had taken. "No. No, not yet, although I have been away from my rooms for a few minutes now."

"Then go back there! See if he's –"

"There are other things of importance going on this night, Potter!" the man snarled, overreacting, in Harry's opinion. "Now return to your own common room, for Merlin's sake. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out after hours."

"But I wasn't –"

"_Now_!" The man waited only until Harry scowled and moved towards him before grasping his shoulder and hauling him from the room, allowing Lilith the portrait to close behind them and leaving Draco to sleep obliviously on.

Narcissa waited in the corridor, continuing at a brisk pace once they caught up to her. Snape kept a tight hold on the Gryffindor as they headed upwards through the school, practically seeing him to the entrance of his common room and leaving him there with a threat of what would befall him if he left it again tonight.

One inconvenience taken care of, Severus carried on with Narcissa at his side, their destination the stone gargoyle that guarded the infamous spiral staircase. "Jelly tots," he muttered disdainfully once there, earning an amused glanced from the witch.

"Some things never change," she observed fondly. It was alright for her to find it entertaining, he thought to himself, as she hadn't been forced to utter these inane passwords over and over again for years on end.

Together, they ascended the staircase beyond, Severus stepping forward only to open the office door and allow her to enter ahead of him.

Dumbledore looked up, the expression in his eyes brighter than it had been in weeks. "Ah, Mrs Malfoy. Do sit down. Severus, will you join us?"

"I..." The Potions Master wavered in the doorway, reluctant to join the small meeting.

After a few seconds, the Headmaster waved a hand. "Oh, of course. Return to your rooms, my boy, and do keep us all informed of any developments that occur tonight."

Severus nodded, and, with a lingering, curious glance for Narcissa, turned and strode from the room, wondering anxiously if he could have missed the werewolf's return in the past fifteen minutes.


	32. Making Arrangements

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 32**: Making Arrangements

xxx

"I would, of course, offer you some refreshments and a change of attire, but I believe we have more important things to discuss for the moment. Don't you agree?"

Narcissa stared at the old man before her and knew immediately that the whispers of his senility were even more outlandish than she'd imagined. Dumbledore might well be eccentric, and growing even more so with age, but this was definitely the same sharp mind – right down to the infuriatingly _knowing _eyes – that she'd known back in her own time as a student. He had intimidated her then, and now was no different. The only advantage she'd gained over the years was that, now, she could hide the small weakness.

"I'm here for my son."

Steepled fingers were immediately in place, usually a sign of a coming argument. "I'm afraid I have a prior agreement with Mr Malfoy that he would remain at this school –"

"You misunderstand me, Headmaster," she said, adopting the best diplomatic tone she could muster with her frayed nerves. "I'm here because I have chosen his side."

Dumbledore looked amused for a second. "His side? I don't believe you've had the chance to so much as hear his motives yet, my dear."

She lifted her chin stubbornly. "He is my _son_. Whatever his motives, they can be no worse than the madness that has overcome my husband in this last year. I've been criminally stupid in remaining with him this long, when instead I should have been with Draco. I was almost killed tonight, simply for voicing doubts, and I do believe Lucius has shown me his last act of loyalty in allowing me to escape with my life." She sat up straighter in her chair, refusing to fuss self-consciously with her hair and clothes, which would only draw attention to the mangled state she was in.

The Headmaster regarded her evenly from behind his desk, and she could practically feel his judgement. The jovial grandfather figure had disappeared in the blink of an eye, to be replaced by the shrewd and ancient wizard. "You come here expecting my protection to extend to you also, Narcissa Malfoy? You, who have committed crimes that your son is yet innocent of?"

"I have done nothing!" she hissed, leaning forward. "You condemn me for my husband's reputation! Look, see for yourself!" She dragged up her sleeves and bared pale, unmarked forearms for his inspection. "I've always refused to bow and scrape before that madman like some common House Elf, and tonight was my final defiance. The Dark Lord no longer wants to set eyes upon myself or Draco, and Lucius is hanging on to his favour by a thread."

"Forgive me if I find your sudden appearance here the slightest bit suspicious –"

"I can swear all this to you under Veritaserum, if needs be." Her desperation must have been greater than she herself anticipated, for her to make such a hasty offer, but still she would follow through, if he asked. "And I am perfectly capable of protecting myself. I merely ask that you allow me access to Draco."

Dumbledore was silent, watching the woman with interest. This was not the aristocratic, refined wife seen in public – this was her as a mother, and it was no act. "The situation is not that simple, Mrs Malfoy," he said slowly, picking words with care. He could feel the magic of his own spell suddenly tightening the air, ensuring that he didn't reveal a secret that wasn't his own. "There is much that has... changed since the school year began, and which I am not qualified to tell you. It concerns me that I find myself wondering whether your present affections can withstand the revelations to come."

"What are you talking about?"

She watched in puzzlement as the old man opened his mouth to reply, only to remain silent, as if the very words were snatched from him. He smiled wryly. "It seems I'm not at liberty to explain any further. I shall say only that Mr Malfoy has altered a great deal already this year, but I do believe it's for the good, despite first impressions."

With difficulty, she fought down the rising tumult of questions. Before she could even begin to worry about whatever it was the Headmaster was implying, she had to first make sure she could even see Draco again after this. "If you still doubt my intentions, I have information I can give you. You'll want to hear it."

One silvery brow was raised. "Is that so? Continue, my dear."

"You have a traitor among your people, Headmaster. The wolf, Lupin, was at the meeting tonight, proposing to join the –"

Dumbledore sat forward sharply, his eyes deadly serious. "Remus Lupin was still alive when you saw him?"

Taken aback, she nodded hesitantly. "He was just before I fled. I think he was even among those to throw curses at me, though of course they went wide..." She narrowed her eyes, seeing his relief quite clearly. "You _knew _he was there. He's another spy, like Severus, isn't he?"

Slowly, the Headmaster sat back, once again tapping his fingertips together thoughtfully. "I must confess that Professor Lupin is in fact there with my approval." A rather sly look was beginning to creep into those blue eyes, which were twinkling annoyingly, she thought. "However, it does present a problem that you're now aware of this very confidential project."

"Obliviate me if you must, but please –"

Dumbledore spoke on as if he hadn't heard a word she'd just said. "Yes, a rather large problem indeed. I'm afraid, my dear, that I simply can't allow you to leave the castle after this. For fear of word spreading, you see." He gazed at her pointedly, willing her to take the offer for what it was.

The Slytherin in her recognised it immediately. "Y-you'll allow me to stay?"

He sighed. "Well, it _would _seem I have no choice, wouldn't it?" He smiled for a brief second, before his persona became serious again. "I am afraid I'll have to take you up on that offer of Veritaserum, though."

She nodded, refusing to show how pathetically grateful she felt in that moment. "Of course. Immediately?"

"Well, I shall escort you down to the Hospital Wing and you can get cleaned up there while Poppy prepares a small drop of truth serum. Better to get it all over and done with, hmm?" He stood and came around the desk to join her, holding out an arm to guide her toward the door. "You may speak with Mr Malfoy at length in the morning," he told her, then chuckled. "If, that is, you can pry him away from Mr Potter long enough."

She gave him a rather concerned look. "Yes, Severus informed me of their... acquaintance. How odd, knowing the history."

"Really? You think so? I always believed it inevitable..."

xxx

"Finally finished fucking each other then?"

Startled, Harry whirled around, his bundle of discarded clothes still in hand, and squinted into the darkness, quickly locating the speaker. Ron was lying on his side facing Harry, who had previously assumed everyone already asleep. His expression was pure spite.

When he registered the words, Harry almost choked. "_What_?" he hissed, trying not to wake the others in his indignation.

"Well, you must have been doing _something_ to keep you out this late, and the two of you are pretty much all over each other nowadays."

That, Harry knew, was a lie. He and Draco conducted their newfound friendship much as they'd conducted their rivalry: sarcastic barbs flung back and forth, bickering that had barely lost its edge and _certainly _no public displays of affection. In fact, his peers might have thought nothing had changed at all, except for the fact that the Gryffindor now willingly subjected himself to this torment, for whatever unfathomable reason.

Ron snorted, continuing his bitter tirade. "S'pose Malfoy's found a use for himself after all this time. Must be good for a quick throw-down, eh? Coz God knows you've lost your mind if you see anything else in that slimy –"

"Shut up," he spat furiously, thankful Ron couldn't see the colour that had flooded his cheeks at the innuendos. With jerky movements, he pulled back the curtain on his own bed and slipped inside, yanking it closed behind him and turning his back in the redhead's direction.

It didn't stop the stream of venom that was the other boy's monologue. "Gotta say, never thought you'd pick him over me, mate. You do _remember_ all the things he's done to us, don't you? Like – oh, let's see, last year – when he was leading Umbridge to us. Or when he made those fucking badges about us. Or Buckbeak! That all happened, Harry! How can you just... just forget?"

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to tune out the words and the memories that were creeping into his head.

"I realise he's your latest pity project and all –"

And suddenly Harry was chuckling, turning his face into the pillow in an effort to muffle the sound, but obviously failing as Ron fell abruptly silent. But really, he couldn't think of anyone less deserving of pity than Draco. Not just because he was a thorough git, but because he was... Draco. All sneering, proud superiority that simply didn't allow for pity from anyone, even at his lowest. And after meeting his mother tonight, seeing, just for a few minutes, the same steely strength in her that ran through the Slytherin, he found even the idea of looking down on either of them impossible to contemplate.

That Ron thought he could was so ridiculous it was funny.

"What are you laughing at?" the redhead snapped, as he was finally regaining his calm.

"Nothing," he said, his mirth dying in his chest. "Just leave it."

"No!" There was the sound of sheets and quilt being thrown aside as the other boy sat up, infuriated. "No, I won't! This is stupid, Harry!"

Giving up on trying to deter the argument, he sat up as well and pulled open the curtain. "What? What's so stupid? You don't even know him!"

Ron looked as if someone had just slapped him. "I – I – My _God_, I don't believe you just said that to me! Can you still hear yourself?"

Harry sneered, in what he thought was a good impression of the subject of their argument. "I could ask you the same thing. You wanna know why I was with Draco till now? Because I didn't want to face _this_, tonight, of all nights."

"Why? What's so special about –"

He'd wanted to avoid this; hadn't planned to explain the events of the night until he himself had discovered the outcome. But suddenly there was no holding back the outburst. He leaned forward, speaking in a hiss of anger. "Remus has gone, Ron. He's taken Snape's place as spy. He could be dead by now, for all anyone knows..." Once again, the reality hit him and he let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes with one hand.

The redhead was staring at him, frozen, for once caught speechless. He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to react, but no sound came. Finally, after a struggle, he managed, "W-what...? But _why_?"

"I don't know!" Harry spat, tugging his hair again. "I don't – He didn't – I –"

"You went to _Malfoy _with this?"

Harry stopped short. "Yes, _that's _the priority here, Ron."

The boy at least had the good grace to flush sheepishly. "That's not what I meant. But... but you couldn't come to _me_? Or Hermione? You had to go to fucking _Malfoy_?" Ron shook his head in disbelief. "_Why_? It's not like he even cares what happens to Remus!"

Harry closed his eyes and decided firmly that continuing the conversation was useless. He had no patience for this right now. Grasping his wand from the bedside table, he shut the curtains again and cast a Sticking Charm, followed by a Silencing Spell. Ron could yell and rage all he liked; it didn't mean he had to listen.

xxx

Most people assumed it was Lucius Malfoy who'd appointed Severus as his son's godfather. Few knew that it had actually been Narcissa's decision, a result of the friendship that had waxed and waned between them over the years since school. They went through periods of closeness, inevitably followed by times when circumstance made it too difficult to keep in touch. They'd come to accept the arrangement. Really, what else could be expected when they had each chosen different sides in the war?

And yet, now, Severus was forced to wonder what it meant for them, with Narcissa's apparent change of heart. He could guess with reasonable accuracy why she'd come here. She intended to stand by Draco, who in turn intended to stand by Potter.

He wasn't sure how they'd work out as consistent friends. Severus didn't _do_ consistent friends very well. People tended to drift in and out of his life continuously, few of them staying long enough to be significant, and he'd come to quite like it that way. In fact, one reason Potter managed to grate on him so easily was because the boy was the shadow of James; James, who'd been among the few lingering torments in his life.

Sighing, he shook aside these thoughts and flicked his wand, unlocking the door to his rooms and stepping inside with a vague sense of relief.

Just as the fire flared emerald.

He fell back against the closed door in pure shock as a figure stumbled out of the fireplace, staggering unsteadily to a halt on the mat in the middle of the room. Severus blinked, common sense quelling his instincts just in time, and he lowered his wand as he recognised Lupin. Quick, searching glance told him all he needed to know – pinpricked pupils at the centre of the overly bright golden irises and the odd little tremors that went through the other man; he was looking at the symptoms of one too many _Crucios_.

He stepped forward barely in time to steady the werewolf, catching him with difficulty as the man sagged.

"S-Severus..."

The Potions Master ignored him as best he could, eyes going to the vial of blue liquid he'd left out earlier. Out of reach unless he let go of Lupin, who would no doubt collapse without him – as amusing as the scenario might have been any other time – he managed to fumble his wand into position and summon the potion with a quick flick.

"Drink this," he order brusquely, wondering if he'd have to drag the other to the nearest chair, as he certainly wasn't standing like this all night. Noticing how badly Lupin's hands were shaking, he gritted his teeth and uncorked the vial himself, even forcing the other to drink with a few swift, not ungentle manipulations, hoping the numbing properties of the draught would kick in quickly and at least return the werewolf to some semblance of normality.

"It hurts," Lupin was babbling nonsensically, repeating the words.

"I know," he ground out in response. "I warned you it would." He didn't add that he hadn't believed they'd leave the man in this state.

Suddenly, the werewolf had grasped at his robes, his expression showing the same desperation as the night he'd pleaded with Severus for something to allow him to sleep. "No! I mean it _hurts_! Oh my God...!" Without warning, Lupin had dropped to his knees, hunched over protectively and shuddering.

The sneer that had formed on his mouth abruptly faded as alarm bells sounded. Instinctively, he crouched beside the werewolf, reaching out roughly and forcing him to uncurl. His hand closed around the other's wrist, unsympathetic to the protests being frantically murmured, and he raked back the concealing sleeve.

Almost immediately he closed his eyes in horror. This had not been part of the plan. _**No**_, damn it!

But even when he dared to look again, the Mark remained, freshly branded but identical to his own. Around the image of skull and snake, previously unmarred flesh was an ugly red, burned by the Dark magic that had touched it.

"What did you _do_?" he whispered disbelievingly, shaking his head. How had this happened? Lupin wasn't supposed to be Marked! He was a werewolf! He shouldn't even have been _allowed_ to be Marked!

Said werewolf was leaning heavily against his side, and now unashamedly pressed his face into the Potion Master's shoulder, shivering. Detachedly, Severus supposed the man was in shock. Hell, _he _was in shock!

"What did you do...?"


	33. Questions Answered

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 33**: Questions Answered

xxx

At first, Harry had wondered what on Earth he could possibly have done wrong since Snape had last seen him that warranted the Potions Master hauling him up from an unusually tense breakfast table – since he and Ron were officially Not Talking – and marching him towards the door. On his way, the Professor paused and made a gesture at the Slytherin table. Draco, with a look of confusion, got up and followed.

The three exited into the hallway and Harry hurriedly twisted away, making a show of brushing off his clothing. "What did I do this time?" he demanded resentfully.

Snape glanced at him scathingly. "Aside from breathe?" he drawled sarcastically. "...Nothing. We're going to the Hospital Wing, since Lupin is requesting your presence."

The Gryffindor blinked, almost halting in his tracks until Draco gave him a shove. "Remus? Remus is back? He's okay?"

"He's back," was the short answer as the man swept ahead of them.

Harry grinned stupidly and turned to look at Draco, who smiled as if to say, _See? I told you. _But he frowned seconds later, puzzled. "As relieving as this is, I'm sure," he muttered, "why am _I _here?"

Snape didn't answer, merely guided them along another corridor.

Harry suddenly clicked, remembering the arrival last night. "Your Mum's here," he blurted out automatically.

It was the Slytherin's turn to stop dead, staring at him, frozen. "...What?" he spluttered, astonished.

"Yeah, she came to your room last night – which, by the way, was when _he _dragged me back to my dorm."

The Potions Master had walked back towards them when he realised they'd stopped following, and now glared impatiently at the pair. "If you're both quite finished –"

Draco turned on him. "Is that true? Is mother really here? Is she...?"

Snape sighed. "Dumbledore insisted on an interrogation during the night. Whatever he discovered, it would appear he has agreed to allow her to stay. You can ask her these questions yourself if you'd both just _move_."

She'd been allowed to stay? That could only mean that the Headmaster trusted her, at least to some extent. But what was she doing here? The last time he'd heard from her, she'd been trying to persuade him to return to his father and take the Mark. What had changed?

He was shaking his head, perplexed. And yet, at the same time, such a pathetic sense of relief was creeping into him, insisting that he see her, find out for sure that she was really... that she was really...

She was really _here_.

He blinked, to find the Gryffindor still grinning idiotically, green eyes dancing. Harry grabbed Draco's arm, tugging, and whispered, "Come on!"

And then he was running ahead, completely ignoring the Potion Master's annoyed reprimand, and what could Draco do, really, except follow? He too barely heard Severus's exasperated shout as he darted past the man, hot on the Gryffindor's heels, both of them racing through hallways, skidding around corners, laughing with pure relief. They terrified a group of Hufflepuffs who were walking down to the Hall, running too fast to stop or avoid them, instead scattering them as they hurtled past, Harry calling rushed apologies over his shoulder and Draco laughing even more – something that almost caused mass-panic amongst the startled Hufflepuffs.

Finally, they approached the medical ward, Harry bursting through the door first and managing to slide to a halt, Draco colliding with him seconds later and peering over his shoulder at their suddenly shocked audience.

Several pairs of eyes had fixed on them and voices had fallen silent. Harry swept a glance across the room, swiftly taking in the occupants of the room. At one side of the room stood the Headmaster, looking amusedly back at them and taking a subtle step sideways to reveal Narcissa Malfoy sitting on one of the beds, looking much neater than he'd seen her last. Opposite them, on the opposite side of the ward, Madam Pomfrey had a hand clutched to her chest in fright, glaring at them, and beside her was Remus, already on his feet and heading towards them.

Harry wasn't aware of the decision to move, only that he was suddenly striding across the room to meet the man halfway, flinging himself into a hug that the werewolf gladly returned. Over his shoulder, Harry closed his eyes gratefully, realising, perhaps for the first time, what it would have meant if Remus hadn't come back.

And with that thought came the flash of anger. He pulled back, expression darkening. "What were you thinking?"

"Harry..."

The Gryffindor took another step back, glaring. "No! You didn't even tell me! I thought you were dead!"

Madam Pomfrey bustled past him, ruining his rather righteous anger somewhat. "Mr Potter, will you stop _shouting_? We'll finish up here in a few minutes, Professor." Nodding to Remus, she disappeared again.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Finish what? Why are you even here? Were you hurt?"

The werewolf sighed. "Sit down, Harry," he offered, and began his explanation.

xxx

As soon as the Gryffindor bounded away towards Lupin, Draco was left feeling very exposed, the weight his mother's gaze resting heavily on him. He hesitated, not sure what to do. He still didn't know why she was here. Did she intend to try and take him home? And yet, Dumbledore was smiling...

Slowly, he walked towards the pair, faltering yet again when Narcissa stood abruptly. Silently, he berated himself. This was his mother; she was not a cause to act like some spooked animal.

He looked at her properly for the first time then, eyes widening at the sight of her clothes – obviously not robes she'd purchased; maybe even spares from the school – and her hair – unstyled but clean, hanging in loose curls that were usually spelled straight – and finally her face – completely lacking the tasteful make-up she nearly always applied.

No, something was not right. She wasn't here to preach his father's argument.

That decided, he crossed the last stretch of distance between them, coming to stand before the witch, feigning calm. He watched her warily, waiting for the first sign of her reaction.

She smiled tremulously, half reaching out to him.

Of course, being a Malfoy, every instinct he had forbade him the public display of affection that seemed only natural in this situation.

Narcissa, who had not been raised a Malfoy, and who found PDAs perfectly acceptable when it came to her son, grabbed the boy before he could protest, standing on her tiptoes to hug him frantically, touching hair and shoulders, kissing his cheek and thoroughly ignoring his half-hearted protests.

"Mother," Draco muttered with a sidelong glance at the Headmaster, embarrassed. "Mother, please..."

"Oh, my dear, I'm _sorry_!" she said fervently, without relinquishing her hold.

In vain, he tried gently to remove her, his efforts fruitless. "Mother?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

Finally, she pulled back, her expression slightly surprised, as if she expected him to know already. Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. "Your father," she said, with some exasperation, "has lost his mind."

xxx

"But I don't see why you had to go in the first place!" Harry protested, for possibly the fifth time, causing Remus to sigh and rub his forehead.

"Harry, try to understand... I'm just trying to do my part –"

"Your part should be here!" Frustrated, he curled fists in the sheets beneath him, glaring at the older man. "What about being a member of the Order? And... and helping Draco? What about –"

"Being a member of the Order means I have to do this," the werewolf insisted gently. "And of _course _I'll still be able to aid Draco – though I'm beginning to suspect there's little left I can teach him. Harry, you're just making excuses."

"So?" the teen demanded immediately. "What if I am? I don't want you to do this."

They paused, momentarily wordless, and then Remus shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry. I just... have to."

Harry stood up and paced away, resisting the urge to lose his temper completely. What was so difficult about this? All Remus had to do was say no the next time they expected him to risk his life. It was so simple.

The werewolf watched his companion for a while, carefully trying to find his next words. Finally, he braced himself and prepared to drop the next bombshell. "Besides, there's no longer a choice in the matter."

The Gryffindor whirled. "What do you mean?"

Remus hesitated. He was no longer as fraught as he'd been during the night, after Severus and Poppy had spent long hours dosing him with calming potions and pain killers, but still, he felt a sudden rush of near hysterical fear as green eyes pinned him. Here he was, facing the figurehead of the Light, James's son, and about to bear the Mark of Voldemort to him, forever emblazoned into his skin.

In the seconds that followed, Harry might well have read his mind. Without any other movement, his eyes darted to the werewolf's arm, who clenched his hand involuntarily over the tattoo, still hidden by his sleeve.

Realisation dawned with slow horror over the Gryffindor's face, and he shook his head in denial. "No..."

"I had no choice –"

"No!" Frantic, Harry wavered, not sure whether he wanted to back away from the betrayal or step forward and tear back the sleeve to prove its existence. Instead of either, he stood frozen, wide eyed and pale.

Gathering himself somewhat, Remus closed his eyes and resorted to the script he'd haphazardly put together earlier. "If any of us had known that _this _would be required... I would never... And Severus wouldn't have allowed... It should have been impossible!" he spat at last, bitterly.

The boy gave no response, and eventually he went on in desperate justification. "I'm a werewolf, Harry. A creature that the Dark Lord considers sub-human. Why do you think Draco defected to the Light? You Know Who would not have made him a Death Eater, he'd have made him a _pet_. A slave. Severus and I... we discussed the likely outcomes of what would happen should I take on the risks of this mission. Being Marked... _should not _have happened."

"Then why did it...?" the Gryffindor asked faintly.

Helpless, Remus ran his hands over his face and up into his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know why I was the exception. I can only think that he didn't trust me after all, despite Severus's best efforts. This..." Haltingly, he pushed back the sleeve and winced to lay eyes on the Dark Mark. "This was the final test."

Harry's eyes flashed. "You had to be willing to take that," he pointed out accusingly, his gaze briefly flicking towards the Mark before darting disgustedly away.

"It was this or die."

They stared at each other, stalemate, until Harry slumped. "What do you mean, Snape's 'best efforts'? Draco was right? He's been training you?"

"Slytherins are too perceptive for their own good. Yes, in a manner of speaking, although it must be said he's done the majority of work himself..." The werewolf sighed tiredly, seeing green eyes darken. "Don't blame him, Harry. He didn't know."

"He _let _you walk into a Death Eater meeting! He gave you instructions!"

"Without which I would have tried anyway and been killed in the first five minutes!"

"But –"

"It's already done, and it's impossible to turn back now. I'm asking you to accept this, and forgive me, not make a difficult situation harder. Can you do that?"

Harry wanted to rail against the unfairness of the situation, wanted to accuse Remus of being inconsiderate and rash. His jaw clenched as he fought back the resentful words that rose in his throat like bile, eyes bright with tears of barely restrained anger.

"Fine," he spat eventually. "But you have to tell me the... the next time."

The werewolf seemed to deflate in relief. "Of course," he promised quickly, and watched as Harry turned on his heel and left the ward, pausing only to cast a quick, communicating glance at the Slytherin across the room before disappearing from sight.

xxx

Draco saw the look his mate – God, had he slipped into that terminology already? Well, that had to stop. He saw the look _Harry_ shot him, and sensed the distress behind it. There was a large part of him – mostly the wolf – that would have simply abandoned his current conversation midsentence and hurried after the Gryffindor, but he managed to keep the instinct in check, mentally rolling his eyes at his own pathetic reaction. When had he allowed his twisted attachment to the other boy to grow so deep? Surely it could only have been in this last week, when circumstances had made a friendship with The Boy Who lived his only beneficial option...?

He told himself that, even while ignoring his mother's suspiciously raised brow as she witnessed the wordless interaction.

She'd calmed down enough to be recognisable as the woman he knew; reserved and dignified and annoyingly observant. Currently, she was watching him with narrowed eyes, and he felt a pressing need to redirect her focus.

"What, exactly, are you going to do, now that you've... left father?" he asked, since it was a question that had been bothering him anyway. He felt awkward voicing the words, the remnants of Malfoy loyalty in him rising up against what she'd done, even as common sense told him that there was no other option. Quite obviously, marital bliss was a thing of the past for his parents, though, as of yet, there had been no mention of divorce, for which he was thankful.

She looked fleetingly at Dumbledore, who still hovered passively nearby, before responding. "It is a matter we've discussed," she said at last, carefully. "The Manor, it seems safe to say, is indeed off limits to us, the wards being keyed to your father. And of course, the Gringott accounts –"

Draco scowled. Call him shallow, he didn't care, but he'd been hoping his mother had a way to lift him from his status of dirt poor, rather than join him there.

She tutted. "Don't frown, dear; it's unbecoming. And I'm not naive, Draco. Yes, the Malfoy accounts are now closed to us – however, the Black accounts I set aside remain in my name."

His spirit leapt as it had not done in too long. Oh yes, shallow he may be, but he had _money _again! The Blacks were a wealthy family; powerful and old and pureblooded. Already he felt some shadow of his social standing returning, and could happily have hugged Narcissa again in thanks.

She was regarding him in amusement, indulging him for the moment, when normally she would have scolded such ungracious glee.

"With that in mind," she went on, "there are a few small properties in my possession that I can rely on – although the main Black inheritance, I believe, now belongs to Mr Potter."

Draco looked up in surprise. "Harry? _Harry _inherited our money? From who?"

But even as he said it, something clicked in the back of his mind. Black. Sirius Black. Lupin's mate. Both he and Harry looking distraught at the start of the year.

The Headmaster was nodding gently. "The late Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. He was killed during the battle last year in the Department of Mysteries. He left everything to Harry."

Both adults were watching him carefully, both of them guessing the thoughts going through his head. His father had been at that battle. Yes, he'd always known that, but suddenly it was all too real. Lucius had been there when Harry's godfather had been killed – probably the only real family he had, since those muggles he lived with surely couldn't be counted.

Disturbed, he shook his head as if to clear it, and looked back at Narcissa. "But... you're okay? You have money?"

She smiled. "I'm as well off as I've ever been, Draco. I should be looking out for you, not the other way around."

He nodded absently, even as his mind drifted. He'd managed to delay his werewolf instinct to go comfort his mate with the urgency of this conversation, but now that he was assured that she was at least financially safe, and would be remaining at the school for the next few days so that he could sort out any other minor details, his attention had shifted back to Harry. He knew the Gryffindor would be waiting for him in his room; he'd seen that in the look he'd given him.

Narcissa watched her son as a frown he didn't seem aware of passed over his face. She sighed, able to guess who he was thinking of, though she didn't understand it any more than Severus did.

"You may go, Draco," she said, not unkindly.

He looked at her gratefully, not even bothering to hide the sentiment, before turning and hurrying from the ward. Thoughtfully, she watched him go, before turning to the Headmaster.

"You still can't tell me what it is that's changed him? Already, I can tell there's something different – the least of which this alliance with Harry Potter..."

Dumbledore smiled sympathetically. "I suggest you confront your son, my dear. All others who could help you have been bound to silence."

Yes, she would make sure to talk to Draco before she left and drag the truth from him if it killed her. What could he possibly have to hide from her that warranted such protective measures as Vows of Silence?

Shaking her head, she cast a glance across the room to see the wolf, Lupin, staring at her. When she caught his eyes, he flushed and ducked his head, looking anywhere but in her direction.

With a shrug, she quickly lost interest and turned to ask the Headmaster where she would be sleeping.

xxx

Draco found Harry lying on his back on the couch, Vanima coiled around his wrists and fingers, held up so that he could look at her as he hissed. He turned his head when the Slytherin entered, blinking owlishly up at him.

Draco coughed, abruptly uncomfortable. "I... Uhm, are you okay?" Slowly, he edged closer, eventually perching himself on the edge of the table, clasping his hands together to stop them fidgeting.

"Fine," the other boy mumbled unhelpfully, frowning.

"What happened with Lupin? I saw you arguing..."

"He took the Mark," Harry said bluntly, not hiding his disgust. "And he's determined to carry on this bloody mission."

Draco's eyebrows rose in shock, and for a long while he sought for something to say, but there didn't seem to be much he _could _say.

"Your Mum staying here?" the Gryffindor asked abruptly, an obvious change of subject.

"For a few days," he admitted. "Then she's moving to one of the Black properties she's entitled to."

Harry blinked again. "Oh, I'd forgotten she and Sirius were related..."

"Yeah..."

They went quiet as the Slytherin struggled for conversation, trying not to shift with his discomfort and, for lack of anything better to do, staring at Vanima's serpentine movements through the other boy's hands.

"S'pose you've got money again now, then?" Harry asked at length without looking at him.

"Well, I'm hardly back to my former glory just yet, but it's a good start." He smirked, going for humour, but Harry only seemed to withdraw further.

"So you're back in Slytherin good books?"

Draco shrugged. "If I play my cards right. Why?"

The Gryffindor sat up suddenly, shifting the snake so that she could slither off across the floor in the direction of his bedroom and the heating charms that awaited her there. Green eyes flicked towards him, then away again before Harry spoke, and he sat with his shoulders hunched almost defensively.

"So... I guess you don't need me anymore."

Taken aback, the Slytherin paused, his mouth half open in answer. Oh, how easy it was to hear a world of insecurities behind that statement, and how easy it would be to end the predicament he'd found himself in. What would happen if he sneered and confirmed the fear? Harry would go away in anger, but it would put an end to this 'mate' business, surely? If the Gryffindor wasn't around, maybe the wolf in him would cease its pining. He'd obviously gotten in over his head, but here was a chance, maybe his last chance, to extract himself...

When the silence went on, Harry looked up at him slowly. And that, he would think later, was his downfall.

"No," he said, in all honesty. "I don't need anything from you."

The green eyes went wide, as if, even though he'd feared it, he couldn't really believe he was hearing the words. He was frozen staring at the blond, his indignity lodged in his throat.

But Draco wasn't done. Still perched on the table, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "What are you constantly preaching about? Friends are supposed to be... equal. Well, we're equal now, Potter. No more _protecting _me – as you think you've been doing this last week, I'm well aware. Let me defend myself to the DA, and to your commoner friends, if I must. And if it comes to curses between me and another Slytherin, for God's sake, _let it_."

Harry met his intent look with one of his own. "Did it ever occur to you that I was worried about what _you'd _do to someone else?"

"I do have _some _self-control –"

The Gryffindor reached up and yanked at his T-shirt collar, pulling it down just enough to see one end of the _Sectumsempra _scar crossing his shoulder.

Draco flushed. "That... _One _slip up!"

"Some slip up! You slip up like that with someone else and you'll be expelled for using Dark magic! Or, worse, someone will realise what you are."

Frustrated, the Slytherin huffed and turned away. Bloody Gryffindor was screwing up his selfless gesture. So much for his moment of grace, when he was _supposed _to be being the bigger person. He was swallowing his pride here! He was risking God knew what by becoming further entangled with this boy, who was apparently his mate – although, at this point, Draco couldn't fathom why.

He glared at some patch of carpet until his companion spoke up hesitantly.

"So. Equal."

He considered sulking a bit longer, but after deciding it unwise given both their current tempers, Draco gave a melodramatic sigh. "I realise it must come as a shock to you, with so many years as my inferior and all –"

Harry narrowed his eyes in exasperation. "Git," he muttered, and smiled.


	34. The Truth Comes Out

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 34**: The Truth Comes Out

xxx

Classes finally resumed on Monday, and Harry felt almost thankful. He'd endured more drama during the holiday than he felt was fair, and welcomed lessons as a respite.

That wasn't to say they were remotely relaxing, even in comparison to the stress of the last week. Since Ron was in almost every class he had, and their seats usually next to each other, it looked as if the tension hovering between them wasn't about to lesson any time soon. Hermione found herself hopelessly trying to mediate for the pair of them, not daring to try and defend Malfoy to Ron, and knowing it useless to even _suggest_ that Harry distance himself from the Slytherin. She was amazed that the boy could cause so much trouble between them even when he was being _friendly_.

Perhaps the worst part of the day came during Potions. She should have expected it, really; tactfully averted the situation before it got too bad. But she'd just been so exhausted from a whole morning of passing terse messages between the boys, as they refused to speak directly to each other ever since whatever argument had taken place during Saturday night.

They'd been sat at their usual places, Hermione in the middle, when Slughorn gave the instruction to divide into pairs. She hesitated, looking between the two and wanting to cringe. Whichever one she chose to work with would only make the other resent her. Ron had glared at her expectantly, while Harry, on her other side, had stared resolutely ahead, his chin lifted in that stubborn, defiant way; both of them demanding in their own way that she side with them.

It had come almost as a relief to hear the cold, drawling voice start up behind her, and turn to see the blonde sidling up to them. It hadn't been intentional but, thinking back, she was pretty sure she'd cast a pathetically pleading look at him, which he'd glanced away from quickly.

"Don't tell me," Malfoy had said in mock astonishment. "Trouble in paradise? Surely not..." Smirking, he'd folded his arms and leaned his hip against the edge of the desk, closest to Harry, who had watched him with an expression that suggested he had no idea what the Slytherin was up to. That, Hermione had thought, could not bode well.

Ron, predictably, had looked as if he was about to lunge at the mere sight of the other boy, the current cause of his unhappiness and anger. She'd laid a hand on his arm, willing him to stay calm through Malfoy's taunts.

But for once, the blond didn't seem all that interested in beginning an argument. He seemed to lose interest in her and Ron swiftly enough, instead cocking his head at Harry, who regarded him curiously. "C'mon, Potter. Why don't you try working with someone competent for a change? Maybe we can get you a passing grade this time." And with that, he turned and sauntered over to the Slytherin side of the classroom, ignoring the poleaxed expressions worn by most of his housemates.

Harry had blinked, glanced at her, then grabbed his bag and followed the retreating blond. She'd watched the surreal sight of her friend and Malfoy setting up equipment and going about their assignment with a civility she'd never thought possible. Even during the few times she'd seen them together, the pair had bickered and sniped to some extent. It had never really occurred to her that maybe they actually could act like friends – normal friends – rather than reluctant allies. She'd tended to assume, as had Ron, that Harry felt sorry for the Slytherin, and was defending him because he had to. But now, she wondered–

She'd been startled from her revelations by Ron slamming down his Potions textbook on the tabletop with unnecessary force.

"I don't get it," he'd muttered sullenly. "I don't get what the _fuck _is going on! They can't be serious with this stunt. Harry has no reason to –"

She'd sighed and turned to him, sick of the same rant she'd hear innumerable times since the redhead's return. "I think it's getting to the point where you have to accept that they're friends, Ron. They just are. I don't know why, but it's _true_."

He'd stared at her for a few seconds, before continuing as if she hadn't said a word. "Do you know I had to find out if Remus was okay for myself?"

Tired, she'd closed her eyes for a moment. "Yes. I went with you. But considering you stormed off this morning when Harry tried to –"

"Hermione! Whose side are you on?"

And there was no end to the arguments, the tension, the stubborn refusal to see eye to eye. It was driving her insane. Harry didn't so much mind her talking to Ron, especially since he had Malfoy now – something that was starting to worry her in a new way, as she watched them together, and knowing what she did about the werewolf – but if she exchanged an amiable word with Harry, it made Ron look at her like a traitor. It was fourth year all over again, and she'd hated it just as much then.

xxx

"I'm terrified he's never going to forgive me, Severus."

"I'm not your councillor, Lupin. You must realise I don't care."

Remus, who was used to this manner of response, ignored him. He sat in one of the squishy armchairs – he was forever surprised at the comfort of the Potion Master's rooms – near the fireplace. Since the dungeons were freezing this time of year, it was almost permanently lit and the werewolf relaxed in the heat.

They'd just finished another session of Legilimency, during which Severus had scoured the defences he'd built, searching for some sign they'd been bypassed by the Dark Lord. Eventually, after what felt like hours – and he had the headache to prove it – the man had announced that all _seemed _fine. Of course, his task was now more difficult than ever, since he'd had to compensate for the Mark Remus now wore, and its magical signature. The Legilimens had to be careful not to trigger the small link that now existed between werewolf and Dark Lord, but he worked around it with the same amount of skill as ever. It helped that he knew what the Mark felt like from personal experience...

Currently, the Potions Master absently paced the room, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to dispel the dull ache that was a result of prolonged mental magic. He cast glances at Lupin every now and then, wondering why the man was lingering, and curious enough to let him stay, for the moment.

"He blames you," the werewolf commented at length.

"My heart bleeds." With a sigh, he turned to regard the other man. "I've never had time for this teenage angst of Potter's. You're coddling him, you know. _And _you're letting him insult you."

"How –?"

"Lupin, I don't say this lightly, or easily, but doing... what you did was possibly the only respectable act I've known you to commit. This... _sulking _of Potter's is cheapening it." Rolling his eyes, he continued his pacing.

Remus fell silent, feeling slightly puzzled. He suspected, somewhere amidst the scorn for Harry, Severus had just complimented him. "Respectable?" he probed, raising his eyebrows.

The Potions Master paused, considering. "...Yes," he admitted at last, as if the word was dragged from him. He wasn't looking at the other man, instead staring into the flames. "Potter, though he whines and rails against the unfairness of it all, will never understand the sacrifice you made at that meeting. One day, he will have to get used to what we must do in the name of this war."

Remus thought about denying the words, defending Harry, as he felt he should, but he couldn't summon the resolve. Instead, he found himself slumping backwards, closing his eyes and feeling, ridiculously, as if he'd just been vindicated. "Thank you, Severus," he murmured, and was rewarded only with some unintelligible grunt of acknowledgement.

xxx

Narcissa glanced idly around her surroundings, examining the room she'd been given to live in while she made arrangements elsewhere. The Black property she'd chosen was smaller than the Manor, but perfectly adequate. It had previously belonged to Bella, but had reverted to her when her sister had been sentenced. Currently, she had House Elves tidying the place in preparation for her arrival.

However, before she left Hogwarts, there was one final thing she needed to sort out.

As if her thoughts had been a summons, there was a knock at the door, and she rose to gracefully cross the room and greet her son. Draco waited outside her rooms with the same hesitancy he seemed to have developed in her presence these days. She stepped aside and, after a brief pause, he entered.

"You wanted to see me?"

She smiled and gestured to the chairs near the fireplace. "Sit down, dear. We need to talk."

He obeyed slowly, body language positively screaming wariness.

She rolled her eyes and lowered herself opposite him, picking up a cup of dainty china and sipping her tea. For a moment, she was reminded of the afternoons they'd spent like this when Draco was a child, and they'd sat in the study as she tutored him in simple maths and reading, the gentle chink of cup and saucer the pleasant backing track of her memory. Those had been calmer times than these.

"Mother...?"

Returning to the present, she gave a little shake of her head, refocusing her attention on the boy. He was frowning in confusion, but beneath that, she saw his nerves. So he really did fear her finding out whatever secret he kept.

"It has come to my attention –" she began rather formally, before stopping with a sigh. "Draco, _what _is going on?"

Her son, she decided, would never be able to look innocent. Instead, he resembled a deer caught in wandlight. "Going on?" he repeated, wide eyed and ridiculously clueless. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean! Ever since I arrived here, the Headmaster had been urging me to talk to you and find out what this... this _change _is!"

"Change –?"

"You thought I wouldn't _notice_?" Quickly, before her voice reached unflattering pitches, she calmed herself. "I am your _mother_. What did you expect? That I'd blithely ignore the fact that something has altered?"

"Nothing's –"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" Setting down her cup with a harsh rattle, she leaned forward and pinned him with a glare. "Not only have you attached yourself to Harry Potter – I may add that I found him in your _room _that first night – you've avoided all contact with me for months, even when I wrote to you –"

Finally, the Slytherin found his voice. "What, when you wrote with the hope of coaxing me back to the Manor, where father would have... would..." He shook his head disgustedly and looked away.

Narcissa opened her mouth to retort, then paused. "...I never wrote you any such thing. Draco, I was _proud _that you'd made the same choice as I had; not to bow to that madman."

Grey eyes, the mirror of her own, grudgingly drifted back towards her. "It was your handwriting," he protested feebly, even as he realised that handwriting was hardly difficult to forge for someone like Lucius. "I never got any other letters."

"Probably the Headmaster's doing. No doubt he was intercepting anything that came from me or your father. I suspected as much, when you never answered..." She trailed off, thinking of the pages she'd penned over the last few months, asking him what had happened to change his mind, begging him to respond, convinced he'd cut all ties forever for some unfathomable reason. "Draco..."

Stubborn, he looked at the table between them, examining the china patterns with determined interest. He would not answer. He _couldn't_. And yet he could feel her beginning to pry in that insistent voice of hers, all sugar-sweet and warm, the one that always dragged the information from him whether he wanted to give it or not. It was the voice she'd used when he was seven, and he'd finally admitted to breaking the priceless vase in the front room; it was the same concerned, attentive expression she wore whenever she wanted him to confess to something, usually something she already knew about.

But no, this time he would resist, because this was not some trivial broken ornament he'd be admitting to. This was an entire upheaval of his life. And yes, he could try to explain to her that not... everything had changed, even though he himself had raged against that very idea in the beginning. In vain, he could try to defend himself and what he'd become – but Narcissa Malfoy, in her own way, was every bit as proud and pureblood as her husband.

No, he couldn't take the risk of telling her, because he couldn't take her horror.

"Mother, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said at last, sliding his well-worn expressionless mask into place.

She stared at him for long moments, waiting for him to break. He always had before, whenever she wanted to know something, but not now. They'd never faced anything of this import before, and Draco was ready to prove he could stand up to the woman, when necessary.

Finally, with a little noise of disappointment, she picked up the delicate teapot that sat between them and poured out another cup of the liquid, pushing it towards him. Out of politeness, and resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he took the drink and sipped at it absently.

"Very well," she went on, still a little put out. "Shall we engage in small talk, then? Since you so obviously don't trust me with anything real –"

"Oh, _mother_..."

"How was your day? You're keeping up in classes, I assume. Merlin knows that no son of mind will..."

He tuned her out as she continued on about her expectations of him, rubbing his eyes and fighting a yawn. God he was tired. He hadn't been sleeping well lately, with all the excitement – as well as certain... dreams that had somehow slipped into his subconscious, curtest of bloody Potter – and it seemed suddenly as if his exhaustion was catching up to him.

"Draco?"

He snapped to attention, shaking his head to clear the fuzziness. "Yes?"

His mother frowned gently, a pretty little pucker of her eyebrows. "What are you hiding from me?" she asked again, watching him intently and a little sadly.

He sighed, shook his head, and promptly opened his mouth to say blankly, "I'm a werewolf."

Immediately, the world crashed down. So it seemed, anyway. He sat bolt upright, hand clapped stupidly to his mouth as if he could take the words and cram them back inside, erasing the look of dumbstruck shock on his mother's face.

What...?

_Why_...?

_**...the hell? **_

Some distant section of his brain must have been functioning beyond incoherent astonishment, thankfully, as suddenly he found his gaze drifting down to the tea cup still held tightly in his hand.

"You drugged me..." he murmured, disbelieving and incredulous. "You gave me Veritaserum..."

Narcissa had not yet gathered herself enough to respond with any kind of grace, and so could only hiss, "You're a _what_?"

"A werewolf," he said again, and closed his eyes in horror. "Stop it."

"How?" Her voice had hardened now, urgent.

"At the start of the y-year..." he muttered through gritted teeth, trying desperately to hold back the words, even as she absorbed them hungrily, leaning forward. His fingers dug into the soft arm of the chair as he fought the potion that urged the truth from him, and the haziness that made it harder to resist. "Lu... Lupin bit me."

"_What_?" Abruptly, she was on her feet, her countenance radiating fury in a way he'd never known before. Fists clenched at her sides, fingers crushing the soft folds of her dress. Her face had gone pale with anger, and she visibly shook.

"Don't –" he tried to interrupt her, but was cut across.

"How could you not tell me this? You should have – I should have _been _here! I should have _known_! Why did no one contact me?"

Compelled to honesty, the Slytherin answered without meeting her eyes. "I didn't want you to know. Ever. And no one contacted you because they were sworn to silence in the hopes that father wouldn't find out and publically disown me." He snorted humourlessly. "That worked well..."

At a loss, his mother started at him, motionless. Eventually, she managed to whisper, "Was that it? Was that the deal they let you make? The reason Lupin is still here, free from consequences?"

Oh, Merlin, no. Not this. He bit his lip until he felt sure it would bleed, but even that couldn't stop the answer from rising in his throat like bile. "..._Yes_," he spat out at last. "Yes, but you can't –"

"How _dare _they do this?" Narcissa fairly shrieked, all traces of the fey and aristocratic witch gone, leaving behind the scorned mother. "How can they justify –? How can _he_ –? I'll _kill _him for this –"

And then the situation worsened, if possible. Draco had a brief second to realise the wolf in him was rising to the sound of the threat before his features shifted slightly and he felt its instincts take over.

"Mother, _**no!**_"

Narcissa stopped dead at the sound of the voice that emerged from her son's mouth. It was not the cool, refined tone she'd always nurtured. Far from it, it was the growl of something that was no longer human. She flinched despite herself, both at the sound and the sight the boy presented her with.

Slightly disorientated to find himself standing, Draco ignored the cut that had appeared on his lip where one fang had punctured the skin, quickly flicking his tongue out to remove the trace of blood. He was barely in control of his own actions anymore. With the combination of Veritaserum making him lightheaded, his own panic surging away beneath the surface, and the wolf's anger snarling incoherently, it was all he could do to cling desperately to some shred of rational thought.

Still compelled to truthfulness, when usually he might have found some other excuse for what he was about to say, Draco shook his head adamantly. "You can't touch Lupin for this," he said firmly, knowing her well enough to imagine how thoroughly she would destroy the man if given the motivation.

"_Why_? Surely you want him punished –"

"He has been," he responded automatically, thinking of the man's own guilt, and the Mark he'd taken mere nights ago. "But, mother, I _can't_ let you do anything more to him."

She shook her head incredulously, and Draco could hear the question she wanted to scream at him.

Well, here came another embarrassing admission. He didn't try to fight it, knowing it useless, even as that shred of rational thought cringed. "He's part of my... pack."

And there was something he'd never thought he'd have to acknowledge. Good God, he had a pack. He had a _pack_.

Narcissa blinked. "Your...?"

With as much dignity as he could still muster, he lifted his chin defiantly. "Pack. Yes. You can't tell, you can't have him arrested, you can't curse him, because he's... he's... Well, you heard me the first time."

Slowly, the wolf features were retreating as her son's temper calmed again. She watched, horrified and fascinated, as fangs retracted and eyed darkened and voice became smooth and human once more.

And finally it seemed to hit her what exactly had been done to him. She lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, not knowing, for once in her life, what else to do.

Draco stared at her helplessly, with the odd feeling that he should be comforting her, or at least apologising. He turned away from her instead, so she wouldn't see the look of terror that had entered his eyes. He hadn't wanted her to know. He hadn't wanted her to know _any_ of it...

"Potter knows, doesn't he?"

He wondered whether he'd have heard her barely audible question without the aid of heightened werewolf senses. "Yes. He saved my life when it happened."

"Is that the cause of this friendship?"

He considered for a moment, before shaking his head, still without turning to face her. "No. Not really." And she would have to drag the other details of _that _from him, if she could.

But no more questions were forthcoming. He could feel her eyes on him, but didn't dare turn and see for himself what expression she was wearing. So much for her perfect, pureblooded prize and joy. All that was gone, now, because he wasn't even a wizard anymore, was he? He was a god damn werewolf, and one so twisted he was even defending the person responsible for inflicting this fucking curse.

The silence went on and on, relentless, until it was a struggle to remain still. Giving in, he turned around haltingly.

Narcissa stood directly behind him, and he looked down at her in surprise, wondering how she'd moved without him noticing.

"You should have told me..." she whispered again, making that strange surge of guilt return.

And then she hugged him.

He was so astonished he froze up completely, vaguely wondering what she thought she was doing. Hadn't she _heard _all of that? Hadn't she been listening...?

And yet his mother continued to cling to him as if she'd never let go, making him just as uncomfortable as ever, despite the little voice in the back of his head that was shouting in relief and reassurance. Awkward, he patted her shoulder and muttered the only thing that was, unhelpfully, coming to mind.

"I can't believe you drugged me..."


	35. Creativity

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 35**: Creativity

xxx

"Your Mum's gone home then?"

"Yep. She had the House Elves take her things from the Manor last night, left this morning."

"...And she's... y'know, taking it well?"

Turning his head slightly so that the wind blew his hair away from his eyes, Draco shrugged. "Surprisingly, yes. She cried a couple of times – God, I hate it when she does that – and she still wants to watch Lupin die a painful death, but... yeah. She's okay with it." He frowned, still vaguely amazed at the thought.

"I thought she would be," Harry said calmly, his breath coming out misted in the cold air as he walked alongside the blonde, his trainers crunching the frosted grass underfoot.

"Oh come off it," Draco muttered, glancing sidelong at his companion with narrowed eyes. "I know damn well what you thought, Potter. You expected my second disownment of the bloody month."

The Gryffindor snorted in amusement despite himself. "I did not..." he protested feebly, grinning.

Draco made some sceptical sound and shook his head wryly. "It's a good job you're better at Quidditch than you are at lying, because this would be an entirely pointless exercise otherwise..." That said, he shrugged the broom he carried into a more secure position on his shoulder and glanced smugly at the other boy.

Harry, Firebolt in hand, glared back as they made their way onto the pitch. He hadn't bothered changing into his Quidditch robes, instead donning scruffy jeans, old jumper and Gryffindor scarf. Similarly, Draco seemed to be dressing down as well – in a way Harry hadn't believed him capable of – wearing the only sweater he possessed that wasn't tailored and his own House scarf.

He stared up at the stands and the empty air of the pitch thoughtfully, hearing the echo of cheers and taunts that had rung out over the years and, even now, resounded in his memory. Next to him, the Slytherin wore the same contemplative expression, no doubt reliving his own experiences of the game.

Harry elbowed him before moving to mount his Firebolt. "Ready?" he asked, eying the little golden ball the other Seeker held, already struggling for freedom.

The blonde answered by swinging his leg over his own broom, kicking off into a slow ascent as he stared expectantly at the Gryffindor. Harry followed, his eyes darting to the side as the Slytherin released the Snitch and it streaked away from them.

"You'd better not play any cheap tricks like Chang did!" Draco called to him as they rose into the air together.

Harry quirked an eyebrow and had to smile. "And there I thought you'd have called that a Slytherin trick," he pointed out with false innocence, echoing the words he'd once taken as an insult.

"Watch your mouth, Potter!" the blond snapped, looking offended. "There's a very short list of people I give that honour to, and she's not on it!"

The Gryffindor chuckled. "And I am?"

"You have your moments," the Slytherin consented, grudgingly. His expression remained aloof for a few more seconds before a smile of genuine amusement crossed his features and he laughed. "Well, what are you waiting for, Potter? An invitation?" And, without any other decent warning, he accelerated with a surge of speed, bursting into the sky on the trail of the Snitch.

Grin feral, Harry took off in hot pursuit.

xxx

With classes finished for the day, Ron sat in the common room with nothing to do. He hated to admit it, but he was bored. Hermione was in one of those moods that meant you couldn't get her attention unless you were quoting _"Hogwarts: A History"_, and Harry... Well. Ron didn't know _where_ he was, and didn't care to find out, thank you very much.

Moodily, he propped his feet up on a nearby stool and slumped back into the armchair, folding his arms and scowling at anyone who looked at him for too long. He might have resorted to chess, but most of Gryffindor refused to play him these days, knowing they'd inevitably lose. Besides, he didn't have the patience for it right now.

Sighing dramatically, he cast around for something to do, eyes travelling over the other occupants of the room. Lavender and Parvatti, as ever, sat gossiping and giggling in the corner. Colin sat cross-legged on the floor, his camera in his lap and what looked like a scrapbook open before him. Neville was pruning some kind of miniature tree with a concentration that made Ron's head hurt just watching.

He rolled his eyes and looked away, feeling irrationally annoyed that no one was entertaining him. Merlin, surely there was _something _to do around here? Besides homework.

He glanced over as Lavender suddenly stood up and, dragging Parvatti, headed towards the boys' dormitories. Seamus was beckoning them both excitedly.

Frowning, Ron leaned forward, trying to peer around the corner to see what was going on, but the girls had already disappeared upstairs. And, even as he looked on, others were beginning to stir, mumbling curiously. Seamus still stood indicating, explaining something Ron couldn't hear. Within seconds, people were following Lavender's lead, trailing up into the dormitories.

Perplexed, Ron stood up and stalked over to the Irish boy, intending to demand to know what was going on, but Seamus turned and jogged up the stairs. Infuriated, the redhead hurried after him.

His room was packed. Gryffindors crowded to one side of the dorm, murmuring, jostling slightly. Wide eyed with indignity, it took him a moment to gather himself, and then he was shouldering his way through the mass of people, growling incoherently to himself.

"Can you see –?"

"Wow –"

"What are they doing –?"

"That's _so_ cool –"

The snippets of conversation were nonsense to him until he reached the front of the small crowd to find Seamus and Katie practically hanging out the window, their expressions rapt.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped, reaching them.

Without turning round, Katie reached behind her and fumbled until she grabbed his shirt, then yanked him into place between her and Seamus. He stumbled, batting away her hand, and looked up.

He knew immediately what they were all staring at. He just couldn't believe it.

"...What are they _doing_?"

Katie shook her head in amazement. "It's a Seeker's game... Have you ever seen flying like that? From _either_ of them?"

Ron was silent, fixated on the blurred streaks of colour that slashed the grey sky one way and then another above the Quidditch pitch, all speed and no restraint. Even from his distant vantage point, he knew this wasn't the same type of flying that was used in a match. A real game was all about efficiency and tactic; what he was watching was aerial dramatics that simply couldn't be performed with other players in the way. He wondered, absently, if either Seeker was really looking for the Snitch, or if they were just showing off a level of speed and skill that couldn't usually be displayed.

As if from a distance, he heard Colin whispering, "I've got to get some pictures of this..." There came the sound of the door opening and feet pounding down the stairs. A second's pause, and then Katie's head whipped around, eyes pinning him.

"Come on, Weasley. We need better seats..." Once again, she reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt, and the next thing he knew he was being forcibly dragged from the room with the rest of their Quidditch team, while most of his housemates swarmed to take their place at the window.

xxx

He was plummeting in freefall, the frozen ground speeding up towards him dauntingly, biting air cutting through his clothes and hair. He gasped for breath against the rush of too much oxygen and with numb fingers, clutched the broom handle.

Just in time to avoid collision, he pulled up and skimmed along the grassy pitch, enjoying the thrill of fear that lingered in his veins.

He glanced up to watch his companion as he weaved between the stands across from Harry. Blonde hair shone bright against the dull grey backdrop of winter sky. Unthinking, the Gryffindor continued to stare even as he returned to a higher vantage point, circling lazily, fascinated by the Slytherin's movements.

Draco's style had changed, he was sure. He wondered if the difference was because of the werewolf reflexes, or simply because he wasn't as tense as he usually tended to be during matches. The other Seeker seemed more graceful in the air all of a sudden, calmer, more confident.

After a while, it occurred to him that he'd been distracted for going on five minutes. Regaining himself, he shook his head and cast around for the Snitch, scanning all corners of the pitch.

Surprisingly, it didn't take a moment to spot, hovering at the midway mark. Harry saw it and surged forward, gritting his teeth with the exertion and excitement. At the other side of the pitch, the blonde caught the movement from the corner of his eye, and without having to think, wheeled around and aimed directly at the approaching Gryffindor. The Snitch fluttered directly between them, and it was a race to see which would get there first.

Draco pressed himself to the broom and leaned forward, eyes fixed on the tiny golden ball ahead of him, only once flicking to his rival, to see his own determined expression mirrored there. The wind stung his eyes as he streaked through the air, making him squint until the world narrowed to the Snitch and Harry. He forgot to breathe, holding his breath behind clenched teeth and positioning himself ready to reach forward.

And then the Snitch, as if sensing it was trapped, rocketed directly upwards. Harry's head snapped backwards to watch it go, eyes searching the sky. The golden ball travelled vertically, almost becoming lost in the clouds.

"Potter!"

Harry looked back in shock, having forgotten that he was hurtling towards the other Seeker. He made the motion to pull up, but hesitated when he saw the blonde's intent. Draco yelled again and, smirking a challenge, held out his hand.

The Gryffindor understood in a second. Reacting instinctively, he swerved slightly to the right so that he'd just skim by the other player, and struck out his hand in return, clasping the Slytherin's wrist as they passed. Immediately, the force of Draco's velocity combined with his own, and Harry felt a second's disorientation as he was spun around. With some difficulty, he angled his broom handle upwards, never letting go of his companion, and suddenly the two of them were travelling a tight spiral skywards.

Amazed, he laughed with pure exhilaration. His fingers loosened their hold on the blonde gradually, but the momentum continued until they were angled almost totally vertical, their spiral still intact. His eyes flicked between the Snitch and Draco, who flew perfectly level with him. The Slytherin was thoroughly focused, his face turned upwards. All his refinement had vanished somewhere during their chase. Green scarf had been lost somewhere along the way, and pale hair tangled at his neck. Once, he lowered his eyes to Harry, and they were wolf-white once again.

The Gryffindor had never known him to be more attractive.

Together, they continued higher and higher, fighting for the lead. By now, the Snitch was just ahead of them, frantically trying to evade its pursuers. Harry struggled to brace himself against the broom and reach up at the same time. He heard Draco's soft growl of protest as his fingers brushed the prize, so close–

He slipped. Automatically, the hand that grabbed at the Snitch retracted, clutching the broom handle to stop himself falling.

The Slytherin surged past him, his hand whipping out and capturing the tiny ball.

Harry looked on in shock as the blonde circled back towards him, looking just as astounded. He held the Snitch as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, wide eyed and blinking.

"Did I...?"

Harry had to chuckle at the honest disbelief on his companion's face. "Nice catch," he commented, beginning to guide the Firebolt downwards again. Draco trailed behind as they descended. Out of sight, the Gryffindor smiled. When it finally hit home, he'd never hear the end of this.

It was only as they were touching down that Harry noticed them. He froze in surprise, faced by the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team and Colin Creevey snapping pictures like there was no tomorrow. He resisted the urge to curse the flashing camera.

Draco came to stand by him, hesitating slightly. Harry glanced at him, and braced himself. "C'mon," he muttered, and moved to face his friends, Slytherin in tow.

It didn't take long to realise that, yes, the _whole _team was present – Ron included. His attention went straight to the redhead, who stared back blankly for a moment before looking away, stubborn. Harry narrowed his eyes in response, but it was a gesture unseen by the boy.

Katie walked straight up to him and folded her arms. "_Why_, Potter, don't you play that well in matches?"

Harry stared at her incredulously. "I just _lost_," he pointed out, reasonably.

"That's not– You what?" Her attention turned on Draco, and then to the Snitch that still struggled in his hand. "First time for everything, I suppose..." she said at last, scathingly.

Glaring, the blonde wordlessly held up a finger to the girl. The insult somewhat lost its potency with his ruffled appearance.

Harry sighed. "Why are you – Colin, knock it off, yeah? – why are you all out here?"

The other team members had begun to approach, glancing at the Slytherin warily. Ginny came to stand next to Katie, looking him over curiously. "We were watching you play from the Tower," she confessed, unashamed. "That was brilliant, Harry."

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course. All credit goes to Potter, as usual..."

The redheaded girl raised an eyebrow at him. "Anyone would think you were jealous, Malfoy."

The Slytherin smiled coldly and raised the Snitch. "I have no reason to be," he murmured smugly.

Exasperated, Harry sidestepped Ginny and Katie and began walking, Firebolt over his shoulder. He'd felt good after their game, but for some reason the arrival of his team had dissipated the mood. He wanted to go back inside.

"Oy! Potter!" Draco called out in annoyance, stalking after him with a look of distaste as he passed by the other Gryffindors.

Katie watched the two go with a slight frown. Next to her, Ginny looked amused and Ron, who had joined them with Malfoy's departure, was expressionless.

"You know what this means, don't you?" she said eventually to the two siblings.

Ginny looked at her in question.

She sighed mournfully. "I've never seen Harry play that well. And Malfoy just beat him. Gryffindor are screwed."

Ron glowered at the retreating Seekers. "Bastard..." he muttered sullenly, though it was impossible to know which boy he was referring to.

xxx

"And justice is finally done," Draco crowed victoriously as they re-entered the school. He was smirking, thoroughly self-satisfied, as he yet again showed off the captured Snitch, practically waving it in the Gryffindor's face.

Harry glanced at him in exasperation. "Weren't you supposed to put that back once we were finished?" he asked dryly, half hoping to dent the annoyingly good mood.

The Slytherin just shrugged. "Probably," he answered, examining his prize. "But I'm thinking of keeping it as a memento."

"Oh God..."

Draco flashed a smile at the dread in his companion's voice, amused. Yes, he would definitely be lording this over the other boy for some time to come. He felt like it was the first genuine victory he'd had in far too long; the first time he'd beaten the Gryffindor fairly, both without resorting to tricks or failing spectacularly.

"You're just bitter," he accused, in vain trying to comb back the tangled strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, windswept and damp.

Harry scoffed indignantly, but didn't get the chance to retort.

"Draco!"

They turned at the sound of the shout to see three other Slytherins following them inside. Pansy and Blaise, whom Harry knew had been the nearest thing to the blonde's best friends, seemed more than a little reluctant as they trailed behind the third, Nott, who approached with what looked like a bad impression of Draco's trademark swagger. Harry fought the urge to laugh at him and his oh so obvious attempt to usurp the Slytherin prince.

"Saw your little performance out there," Nott stated as he came to a halt before the pair.

Draco looked unimpressed, even a little irritated. "Should we just sell tickets next time?" he asked of no one in particular, frowning.

Harry glanced at him, swiftly noting the change of persona. Immediately defensive, the blonde had suddenly reverted to the scorn and cold superiority that Harry had known for so long, up until a few months ago. Ironic, he thought to himself, that it was now fellow Slytherins he'd turned the attitude against, while Harry suspected he was the only one who'd seen the werewolf laugh as he'd been doing this past hour.

"Just because you've leeched on to Potter," Nott was saying snidely when he looked back, "doesn't mean you can give away Slytherin Quidditch tactics, Malfoy."

Draco looked at him incredulously. "Excuse me...?" His eyebrows rose slowly – a warning sign that the Gryffindor recognised, but which Nott evidently missed.

"Why do you _think _he's out there with you?" the boy demanded, glancing at Harry with a sneer, but saving the real look of disdain for Draco. "Maybe Potter's more Slytherin than we always thought, since he's obviously manipulating _you _well enough. It's a sad thing to watch."

The werewolf looked more shocked than anything else, blinking wordlessly. Harry almost cringed. Slowly, he took a few steps back, leaning his Firebolt against the wall and folding his arms, turning to watch Nott with a look verging on pity. He remembered his deal with Draco to be equals, and what the blonde had said at the time. _"And if it comes to curses between me and another Slytherin, for God's sakes, __**let it**__!" _And Harry intended to. Really, he thought, Nott deserved what he was about to get.

The idiot seemed oblivious, as well. Not only did he fail to notice Draco's expression – almost completely blank with rage – he didn't appear to realise that, suddenly, he was all alone. Both Blaise and Pansy had gone cold, and slipped away to join Harry by the wall, where the three looked on with calm expectation, united for this brief moment.

"Merlin, Draco, you have sunk to a new low, haven't you?" Nott mused as he had the audacity to crowd the other boy, taking advantage of his taller stature in an attempt at intimidation. The blonde didn't so much as blink, merely staring straight ahead, eye level with the other's collar. Nott, mistakenly, took this for submission and went on. "My God, clinging to _Potter_? I always knew you liked having money, but to whore yourself out to this extent..."

Harry could just about pinpoint the moment Nott went too far. He considered intervening, then, but as if reading his mind, Blaise gripped his shoulder tightly, keeping him in place. He didn't exactly put up much of a fight, to be fair. He would step in, he decided, only if things got out of hand.

Instead of the lash of magic Harry expected, complete with harsh, wide wand motions, Draco barely moved as his wand slipped from its hiding place inside his sleeve. Only the slight twitch of his fingers alerted the Gryffindor, who had to admire the sneakiness. Nott, oblivious, failed to defend himself when the attack finally came.

The blond murmured it inaudibly, making it impossible to know what curse he'd used, only that it caused the other Slytherin to abruptly drop to his knees with a look of astonishment, his arms suddenly pinioned behind his back. Automatically, he started to struggle, but it was as if invisible ropes bound him in place at Draco's feet.

Starting to panic, he looked towards Pansy and Blaise. "For fuck's sake, _do_ something!"

Draco glanced at them as well, coolly, merely waiting to see if he would have any interruptions. When no one moved, he lost interest and turned back, gently using his wand to tilt the other boy's chin upwards until their eyes met. He saw the beginnings of an old fear shown there, eroding the arrogance he'd previously displayed.

"You're trying to replace me, Nott?" he asked lowly, tapping the wand lightly against the other's jaw. "I don't think you inspire quite the same loyalty." He gestured towards the three spectators, who looked on coldly.

The boy jerked against his bindings, turning his face away from the taunting contact with a snarl. "Fuck yourself, Malfoy"

Draco smirked, and it was a vicious expression. "Not remembered your place yet?" he asked mockingly, slowly lowering himself to a crouch until they were on eye level.

Without warning, he reached out and yanked down the Slytherin tie and flicked open the top few buttons of the boy's shirt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Nott screeched, trying to scramble backwards but failing utterly.

"Reminding you," Draco answered, simply.

He brandished his wand with a flourish, and his captive's eyes fixed on it with a look of terror so obvious that the blonde chuckled. Yes, he was perfectly capable of hurting the pathetic little wretch – and might even have done so, at another time or place – but to curse him and be done with would be too generous. Draco had found that the best method of punishment when it came to his housemates was not pain, but humiliation.

Harry watched in morbid fascination as the werewolf opened Nott's shirt to bare the patch of skin on the left side of his chest, and slowly touched the tip of his wand to the flesh while his victim practically hyperventilated. Nott struggled continuously, but Draco ignored him, his lips moving soundlessly in incantation.

For a moment, the Gryffindor worried that Draco was about to get himself in more trouble than ever with some Dark curse or other. He clenched his fist, sharing a troubled glance with Blaise, who appeared to be thinking along the same lines.

But even as Harry looked on, his mouth open to protest, Nott's efforts to break free suddenly ceased as he stared down at himself in shock. Dark lines of colour had begun to spread across his skin, forming a familiar handwriting that Harry recognised from the notes they'd once passed.

With its cursive loops and swirls, it read: _In the service of D. Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin. _

Harry gaped incredulously. Oh, he was not seeing this. Draco had _not _just tattooed his own name on the boy. He wasn't that stupid, surely...

The blonde examined his handiwork, seeming to muse over the wording for a moment, before briskly rising to his feet again, patting Nott's shoulder in a mockery of conciliation.

"What have you done...?" The boy's voice was faint with horror and disbelief as he looked down and shook his head.

"Just keeping you in your place," Draco answered innocently, absently twirling his wand between long, deft fingers. Even with his tangled hair and Quidditch clothes, he exuded superiority.

Then, leaning down, he lowered his voice and hissed in the other's ear, "I'm back in power, Nott. You'd do well to remember that."

He flicked his wand dismissively and the boy scrambled away from him, regaining his feet with difficulty and rubbing his wrists as if they'd been chaffed. He stared at Draco wordlessly, wide eyed and appalled, clutching his shirt collar closed to hide the writing branded on him from sight.

The blonde sneered. "Go," he ordered bluntly, and sidestepped as Nott hastened to escape, glaring resentfully at Draco as he passed, before taking off down the hall.

The werewolf watched him with a scornful expression before turning to regard his remaining companions. He eyed the two Slytherins warily, then glanced fleetingly at the Gryffindor, half expecting disapproval from him. But all three only looked stunned.

Finally, Harry was the one to break the silence. "'The Prince of Slytherin'?" he repeated sceptically. "I thought you didn't encourage that nickname?"

Draco shrugged as he moved back towards them, casually sliding his wand back inside his sleeve. "Never underestimate the power of a title, Potter. Those of us who haven't survived a Killing Curse have to make do with the name we make for ourselves. Unfortunately, mine just happens to be a little more pretentious than most."

The Gryffindor snorted. It amused him to hear Draco admit that.

Blaise coughed lightly, drawing the blonde's attention. "I do hope that wasn't a permanent spell," he uttered calmly, examining his nails with the attitude of someone accustomed to this kind of occurrence.

"It'll fade in a few weeks," Draco answered, with the same casualness. Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated with Slytherins in general. It was all a power play, he decided, and one without morals or manners.

"I trust you'll add the necessary embellishments to this little incident?" the blonde went on, glancing between the pair.

Pansy smiled – not the air-head flirt of a smile she tended towards, but one worthy of a Slytherin. "Of course, Draco darling. You expect any less?" She paused, and then added, "Not that we'll need to embellish all that much, with that little brand of yours."

And with that, she clasped Blaise's arm and dragged him off towards the dungeons, both of them nodding to Harry as they passed.

"What was that...?" the Gryffindor eventually asked, shaking his head.

"That was me getting my reputation back," Draco answered, stepping closer and regaining his look of thorough satisfaction. His broom had been left on the floor where he'd stood over Nott, but for the moment he was content to leave it there.

Harry blinked, surprised by the sudden close proximity. His back was to the wall, making him feel a bit trapped. Uncomfortable, he affected as nonchalant a pose as he could, folding his arms self-consciously. After watching the Slytherin re-establish his authority so efficiently and remorselessly, he felt more than a little taken aback. He'd forgotten what Draco could be like if provoked, foolish as the oversight was.

The wolf in him was growling happily over what it considered a successful take-down of an enemy, and the nearness of its mate, and he himself had been particularly impressed that the Gryffindor had kept his word and stayed out of things. The combination was intoxicating, making him forget any reservations he had.

"What are you doing...?" Harry asked quietly, voice almost deserting him.

Draco shook his head and admitted honestly, "I have no idea..." Hesitant, he flexed his fingers at his side, then reached out and brushed them quickly down the other boy's jumper. He looked down immediately afterwards and withdrew the touch, as if aware that the gesture wasn't something he should have allowed.

Harry watched the play of nerves on the blonde's face with fascination. Unthinking, he unfolded his arms and let them drop to his sides, removing the defence. It was obvious what the Slytherin thought he wanted, and though he found the uncharacteristic shyness endearing, Harry had to wonder if this was the best course of action. He looked around helplessly, almost hoping to see someone else approaching.

But there was no one besides themselves in or near the hallway, and the silence was growing excruciating.

"Look, Draco..."

At the sound of his name, Draco gave in. He stepped forward without thought, moving to rest his forehead against the Gryffindor's shoulder and his hands on the other boy's waist.

Harry froze, going tense all over at the unexpected full-body contact. His arms remained fixed at his sides, not daring to touch the Slytherin. "I thought you said –"

Draco didn't move. "I did. And I hate this." He turned his head, so that his breath ghosted over his companion's neck.

"Then don't –"

"Shut up, _Harry_," the werewolf said imperiously, and kissed him.


	36. Taking Chances

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 36**: Taking Chances

xxx

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Draco wondered what the _fuck _he was doing. Where had all his well thought out arguments against this course of action gone?

Like, for example, the fact that he wasn't _gay_. That hadn't used to be in question. He'd never so much as _looked _at another boy before now, let alone Harry. For that matter, he _still _didn't look at other males and find them attractive. It was just the bloody Gryffindor. Of course it was. Didn't he always have to be the exception to everything...?

Logically, Draco knew it was the wolf in him that was the source of his attraction. It wanted its mate. But even so, was that any excuse for _him _to be reacting so strongly to this clinch? When Harry suddenly began to kiss him back, it was all he could do not to utter some pathetic whimper and jump the boy there and then, despite not having the slightest idea of the... mechanics of such a thing. He _wanted _the Gryffindor, damn it all.

Yet at the same time, every self-preservation instinct in him was screaming in protest. If he gave in to this, it would be the end of him. He'd be bound to Harry irrevocably – whereas the other boy would be just as free as ever. He had no obligation to Draco, unaware of his own status as the werewolf's mate. If he merely wished to participate in a quick fling – putting the Slytherin on the same level as Chang – well, there'd be no harm done to _him_, would there? But for Draco...

Once again, he found himself allowing his partner to take control as he was turned around and pressed against the wall. Harry broke away for a moment, his breath coming fast as he searched Draco's face for whatever permission he was looking for. Not wanting to be given the chance to reconsider and think fully about what he was doing, the blonde reached up and pulled him forcefully back into place, closing his eyes tightly against reality. He could pretend, just for a little while, that there was nothing complicated about this – no unforeseeable consequences, no inevitable problems. They were _not _doing this in a hallway with the frantic hope that no one would walk by and see. He could pretend he had some control over his own actions.

_"I hate this," _he'd said moments ago. Well, he did. He'd never been more vulnerable in his life and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Harry shivered as he felt the werewolf's considerable strength surrender to him. Yes, Draco could easily have shoved him away if he wanted to; could easily have taken control of the situation – as he'd demonstrated not moments ago with Nott. Instead, he seemed to yield totally, accepting any touch Harry chose to offer him. It was almost overwhelming, that kind of submission.

He had to stumble backwards lest he get entirely addicted to the sensation.

The blonde stared at him dazedly, looking momentarily lost. Harry raised a hand to his mouth, to discover that Draco had bitten him in his insistence that they kiss, his fingers coming away with the slightest smear of blood.

"What are you –? What was –? Draco..." He shook his head helplessly, fighting down the rush of hormones and excitement that had flooded him almost the instant the Slytherin had grabbed him.

"I-I don't..." The blonde closed his eyes for a second and seemed to shake off whatever had come over him. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Harry muttered, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... I thought you didn't want..." He gestured between them. "...whatever this is."

"I didn't. I _don't_." That, Draco thought, was sort of true. He watched the Gryffindor's expression flicker, then close over. "...I can't help it."

Harry snorted. "Nice," he responded sarcastically. "Really, very nice." Not looking at the Slytherin, he brushed past to grab his discarded Firebolt.

As he turned to walk away, the werewolf grasped his wrist. "Do _you_?" he asked, meaning it to sound defensive, but instead allowing genuine curiosity to slip into his voice.

Harry sighed. "What?"

"...Want this?"

They stared at each other uncomfortably, Draco still loosely holding the Gryffindor's wrist and Harry suddenly lost for words. How was he supposed to answer that? To be asked so bluntly...

_Did _he want to carry this on...?

Whatever it was.

And that brought the question: what did _Draco _consider this? Was this merely his... experimentation? Was he just bored? What if...

Since getting to know him, Harry had come to respect the Slytherin's determination to come out on top, and even the coldness with which he went about attaining that goal, but now the unwanted thought occurred to him that maybe...

Well, maybe this was just one more method for Draco to climb the power ladder.

He'd never been truly worried of anyone using him for his name before now, and it was ironic that the first person to alarm him was the Slytherin, who'd always despised his fame – still despised it, he suspected. It was just that–

No. He cut the train of thought off swiftly, before it could derail the tentative trust they'd already established.

Besides, Draco could never feign innocence, or nervousness, convincingly, yet he showed both emotions now, which only served to unnerve Harry all the more.

"Potter...?"

He blinked, realising that once again the blonde was closer than he should be, though he seemed oblivious to this fact, or what they'd look like if someone rounded the corner. Slowly, in a way that made the Gryffindor imagine he was unaware of the action, his fingers trailed lower and brushed over Harry's palm.

"...I want it," he admitted finally in a whisper, possibly the hardest confession he'd ever made. Immediately, he ducked his head in embarrassment, terrified of seeing the Slytherin smirk with amusement or victory.

Draco did neither, instead staring at him intently. "Really?"

He couldn't help rolling his eyes. "No, this is my idea of a joke."

"Fuck off, Potter –"

"Use my first name."

The blonde went silent, apparently shocked. He examined the Gryffindor curiously, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. And smiled.

"...Harry."

xxx

Ron walked back into the common room with a tired sigh, automatically taking stock of the people present. Not many, he noted quickly, as he made a beeline for Hermione. Most of the team had stayed outside on the pitch, content to chatter excitedly over the skill they'd just witnessed, wondering aloud if they could incorporate any of those moves into their plays. Katie had been furious that their Seeker had been holding out on them, and astounded that Malfoy had matched him. By the time Ron had left her, she'd been ranting incoherently about what she'd do to the bespectacled boy as punishment, while in the same breath praising him to the stars.

Hermione looked up only when he dropped himself unceremoniously onto the couch next to her, huffing.

"I heard all the commotion about Harry's Seeker game," the witch said absently as she marked her place in her book. "Was it as good as they're saying?"

"Better," the redhead answered moodily, unhappy. "Where is he, anyway? Upstairs?"

She glanced at him, surprised. "No, he didn't come back. Actually, I thought he might have stayed with the team."

"No, he disappeared with Malfoy."

"Oh..."

Ron snorted and shook his head. "I don't get it," he muttered, though it lacked the same heat she'd grown wary of lately. "Yeah, alright, the git's a better flier than he was last year. And _maybe _he knows a bit of magic. But..." Again, he shook his head and shrugged.

She looked at him sympathetically. "Harry knows him better than we do, Ron. There's obviously something more than –"

"But there _can't _be." He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "He's _Malfoy_. Why can no one but me seem to remember that?"

Okay, she decided. She'd officially had enough of this circular argument. Setting her book aside, she turned to face him properly. "It's not that we can't remember that, you know. It's that we can see he's _changed_."

"But –"

"Do not tell me that's impossible! Admittedly, it was... improbable, but it happened. Haven't you been paying attention to _anything_? Lucius Malfoy disowning him? Dumbledore trusting him to work with the DA? _Harry _trusting him?"

Ron stared at her wordlessly.

She uttered some noise of exasperation. "He's switched to the Light's side."

The redhead blinked, then frowned. "Are you kidding? _Malfoy_? How can you believe that?"

"Because I'm _not _blind? Ron, _please _stop being so stubborn! Talk to Harry –"

"Hermione! Why should I when –"

"He was going to talk to you," she said, cutting him off. "When you got back, he was going to explain that he was friends with Malfoy."

"Well why didn't he –?"

"You hit him, Ron! You hit him and tried to curse him, and it was _Malfoy _who stopped you."

The redhead seethed. "But I've been his friend since first year! Shouldn't that count for something?"

"It does. But, this time... you're in the wrong."

He sat back as if she'd slapped him.

She went on. "Harry isn't asking you to like him. He'd probably be astounded if you exchanged a civil word. The only thing he's asking is that you don't curse each other on sight – and you did that the minute you got back!"

"He deserved –"

"Oh, he did not," she admonished briskly. "And Harry didn't deserve that spectacle, either, although it might interest you to know he got you back here safely even after you punched him for no good reason."

Ron scowled at her and looked away, the wind taken from his sails. Her calm, matter-of-fact reprimands made it impossible to retort, even though his resentment still simmered beneath the surface.

At that moment, the portrait door opened and they both turned to watch none other than Harry stroll inside. Lately, upon setting eyes on the redhead, any good mood was instantly dented – but this time, the ridiculously bright smile didn't so much as flicker. He grinned at them both, as if he'd completely forgotten that he was supposed to be angry with one of them, and ran a hand through windswept hair. Over one shoulder he carried his broom, and was currently tracking damp footprints over the carpet. Hermione resisted the urge to scold.

Instead, she glanced him over with interest, a little suspicious. "You look happy," she commented. "Good game?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. The game. Yeah, it was great."

"Mm. Ron was just saying that."

Green eyes flicked to the redhead in surprise. "You were?"

Ron flushed and glared at Hermione. Just because she'd decided they were ready to make nice didn't mean it was true. "S'alright. I guess."

"Thanks. Uhm, I need to go get a shower. I'll see you guys later." He turned and bounded towards the stairs.

Just before he reached them, Hermione called out, stopping him. "Were you just with Draco, Harry?"

The idiotic grin returned in all its blinding glory. "Yeah. Why, what's up?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind."

Ron waited a decent interval until he was sure the other boy had disappeared into the upstairs bathrooms before slowly looking at the witch. "Okay. I _get _that they're friends, as scarring as it is to say that out loud. But is there anything... y'know, _weird _about it to you?"

With a force of will she commended herself for, she kept her face blank. "What do you mean?"

"Like... I mean..." He stopped, scowling. "Nothing. It's stupid." Merlin, maybe she _was _right and he _was _making up problems where there weren't any. It was the only explanation for the horrible thought that had briefly popped into his head just then.

Wisely, she held her tongue.

xxx

Late evening saw Hermione alone with her studies in the common room, with the exception of a small group of first and second years near the fire. She didn't mind. It had given her the chance to catch up on her Potions revision – which she felt she'd fallen behind in after Draco had achieved higher marks than she had on the surprise quiz Slughorn had set them the first day back.

Sighing, she sat back and rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day, but for the first time in too long, she felt as if she'd finally achieved something. Ron was mellowing, though he still seemed to fight against it. She could tell that his anger with Harry was petering out, which was a relief. She couldn't have dealt with anymore bitter rants from the boy.

She was just about to call it a night when the sound of footsteps made her glance up as Harry came into view, looking somewhat neater than earlier. He smiled wearily and came to join her on the couch.

"Got tired of the interrogation," he said by way of explanation, referring to the barrage of questions that had been thrown at him by Katie and other members of the team as soon as they'd cornered him.

She nodded and waited for him to broach whatever subject was on his mind. She knew Harry. When he sought her out like this, alone, he usually had something to talk about. She could see it in his expression as he stared pointedly away from her, as if the worn carpet at his feet held all the answers to the universe.

"What's wrong?" she prompted eventually, when he wasn't forthcoming. "You looked happy enough earlier."

"I was. I mean, I am." He went silent again, frowning.

"Harry...?"

Taking a deep breath, he seemed to force himself to look at her. "How does the wizarding world feel about... about g-gay people?"

Her eyebrows climbed slowly. Well. If she'd ever been the slightest bit suspicious about this matter, here, apparently, was her confirmation. She faltered, unsure how to react for long moments. Did Harry think he was being subtle? What was she supposed to tell him?

Finally, she settled on blunt truth. "It regards the issue much the same as the muggle world." He stared at her blankly until she went on. "As in, younger generations – our age – tend to be more open-minded about the whole thing."

"...And older people?"

"Tend to disapprove. Especially pureblood families." She had to emphasise that last part, watching her friend's expression carefully. Best that Harry know what he was getting himself into if he really was hinting at what she thought he was hinting at. The Malfoys, after all, were _the _pureblood family of their time. "And of course," she added, "when... celebrities come out, the reaction tends to be much greater in both directions." She stared at him pointedly until he flushed and actually covered his face with both hands.

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," came the muffled complaint from between his fingers.

"You started it," she pointed out. "Harry – Harry, look at me – I'm going to assume that this entirely _hypothetical_ conversation has a point?"

Green eyes showed a world of relief as she gave him the small escape route. "I-I was just wondering, really... Y'know, curious..."

Privately, Hermione rolled her eyes, and continued with false casualness, as if this was a daily topic of conversation. "Not that it matters, sometimes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are incidents of famous witches and wizards throughout history that have had lovers of the same sex. There are even rumours about Dumbledore, and no one holds it against _him _–"

"_What_?"

She shrugged. "Well there are. But do you see my point? Reputation can sometimes make up for what some wizards consider a failing. And then there are the cases which don't really give a person a choice..."

Once again, he looked lost.

She bit her lip, wondering if she was doing the right thing by risking this bit of information, then plunged ahead. "Well, like Veela or... or werewolf mates."

Harry blinked at her and took on the serious expression that meant he was really _listening _for once.

"Take Sirius and Remus for example," she said, ignoring his slight wince at the mention of his godfather. "Remus wouldn't have had any say in being bound to Sirius. The general wizarding world, even purebloods, would have taken that into account, considering it just one more aspect of the curse."

Harry sighed and sat back, not looking any less troubled than when he'd first sat down. Absently, she flipped a few pages in her textbook, letting him think over everything she'd said. He'd withdraw completely if she tried to push the conversation before he was ready.

The contemplative silence went on until she could feel her eyelids drooping. Only when she feared she was about to doze off did he speak up.

"So how do you... y'know, _know_? If you are."

"I would assume you'd be attracted to other boys. Or girls, as the case may be."

He bit his lip. "And what if... what if you're not? What if it's just this _one_ person?"

Again, she wondered if he thought he was being subtle. Shaking her head in exasperation, she tried to word her answer. "Then... perhaps you're not attracted to gender. Perhaps you're just attracted to Draco as a person."

"But – What?" His head whipped around to stare at her, wide eyed.

She smiled indulgently. "Sorry. Was I not supposed to guess that much?"

"That's not – I don't – Hermione!"

"What? It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But –"

"Have you kissed him?"

Promptly, the boy went crimson, making her laugh a little.

"Oh, so _that's _why you were so happy this afternoon." She grinned, and couldn't help but ask, "So? Was he better than Cho?"

She really couldn't remember the last time he'd looked so horrified. In desperation, he covered his face again, sinking into the cushions.

Despite herself, she couldn't help the little spark of amusement. She certainly had to hand it to Draco. The Slytherin must be something alright, as until now she hadn't believed that Harry had any inclination towards the other boy – or any other boy, for that matter.

"...Do you think I'm being stupid with this?" he whispered eventually, barely audible.

She studied him intently. Did she? How could she explain that, no, ironic as it was, she was beginning to think the werewolf was actually his best choice...? Draco, even if he wanted to, could never hurt him, never betray him, never waver in loyalty. The werewolf would protect him to the very extent of his powers, using all the strength, magic and wit available to him. What's more, though she often disapproved of his methods, she could see the advantage of having a Slytherin's cold intelligence around devoted to Harry's benefit.

And if Harry could accept a relationship with the boy that made him happy – something she hadn't thought possible – well, all the better.

So she smiled. "I think this is the least stupid thing you've done in a very long time."

He looked up at her in surprise, blinking.

Sighing, she gathered her books and stood, covering a yawn. "Tell me more about it tomorrow, Harry. I'm sorry, but I'm going to fall asleep if I sit here any longer."

He gaped at her. "What, that's _it_? No lecture? Not even... questions? _Nothing_?"

She smirked. "You sound upset that I'm not giving you a hard time over this."

"Well... I thought..."

Fondly, she reached out and tugged gently at his hair before turning in the direction of her bedroom, answering over her shoulder, "Harry. Not everyone is out to make things harder for you."


	37. Making Progress

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 37**: Making Progress

xxx

The air was thick with curses. Ginny ducked a stray Body-Bind and darted past Zacharias Smith, who was facing off against Terry Boot. Her own pursuer, Hannah Abbott, fired off a series of hexes that went wide, some of them hitting a few other unfortunate members of the DA. Parvatti, struck from behind, went rigid and fell backwards, making Ginny swerve around her as she ran on.

The Room of Requirement was a battlefield. No longer were they split into sparring partners, with Harry and Malfoy wandering the room calmly, giving advice or criticism. Instead, the entire room was involved in a mass duel. Split roughly into halves at the beginning of the session as if they were opposing sides in a real battle, the group had been instructed to improvise and then left to their own devices. Though Harry was still present, even participating with them, he'd fallen back from his role as teacher. So had his Slytherin counterpart, for that matter, both of them eagerly taking part in the miniature war they'd created.

She watched them when she could afford to, fascinated by the sudden change of chemistry between the two. Accustomed to watching the pair face off against each other, it was strange to suddenly see them work together.

She glanced over just as Hermione, who had been sorted onto the 'opposite' team, sent a jinx at Harry from behind. Smoothly, without breaking either of their rhythms, Malfoy pulled the other boy out of the way and sent a flurry of spells back at the witch that made her retreat almost instantly. In return, Harry cast a shield charm around the blonde that deflected the attack Ron threw at him, taking advantage of the distraction Hermione caused.

Ginny shook her head in amazement. Not so long ago, she would have said they couldn't have stayed in the same _room _together; now she could only marvel at how well they worked as a team. It was uncanny. And, more than anything, a reminder of _why_, exactly, these two were qualified to teach them. Merely watching them made her feel a rush of exhilaration, and she turned with a wild grin and found herself caught up in a duel with Susan Bones.

Draco cast a glance over the students surrounding him. He found himself checking on their progress, their actions, trying to gage which 'side' of their staged battle was coming out on top. Ginny Weasley was vicious, he noted, with something verging on approval. More skilled than her brother – but then, he may have been a little biased. He and Granger hovered nearby, picking off individuals around them. Granger constantly shot glances at himself and Harry, trying to figure out a way past their joint defences. Impossible, Draco thought arrogantly, but knew it to be true. He pressed his back to the Gryffindor's and sent a hex at Longbottom, purely to frighten him.

Scanning the chaos around him, it occurred to him that he was feeling oddly satisfied upon noticing a few of the spells he'd introduced to the students being used. As unnerving as it was, he felt a little thrum of pleasure at realising he'd actually _taught _something successfully.

He watched Michael Corner attempt to dart away from his opponent, only to find himself defenceless, and was promptly struck down by two other curses. Rolling his eyes, Draco called out short-temperedly, "Find a partner, for God's sake!" One could only triumph in a battle like this with an ally.

Anyone within earshot glanced at him fleetingly, and he was almost surprised to see them obey, pairing off automatically.

Harry chuckled near his ear, even as he fended off a quick series of assaults. "You're starting to enjoy this," he accused in a whisper, breath warm on the back of Draco's neck.

The Slytherin curled a lip, casting a disgusted glance over his shoulder at the Gryffindor. "I most certainly _am not_," he denied heatedly. "I can assure you it's as much of a chore as ever!"

"Yeah, okay," was the amused dismissal.

Draco shook his head in exasperation. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to deliver some sarcastic retort, as Granger chose that moment to renew her attack. She only wanted to beat them because of her constant urge to be the best. Well, Draco could understand that. Trouble was, 'best' was _his _position.

He turned on her, responding to the challenge she'd extended, and they went about proving who, exactly, deserved the title of most talented in their year.

xxx

Severus wondered if these sessions would come to an end anytime soon, or ever. He'd thought that, once the construction of the Occlumency webs was done, his association with the werewolf would be over and done with, except, perhaps, for the occasional consult.

However, it had been during their last meeting that a small worrying thought had occurred to the Potions Master. Investigating it, he'd unfortunately been proven right.

They'd always known that what they were doing was still supposed to remain in the theoretical stages. This was unpractised magic, with none of the kinks and problems worked out. It seemed Severus had just encountered one of said problems.

The webs had been built with magic that was alien to Lupin. It wasn't a part of him, as his own magic was – and as a result, all that effort was unravelling. Literally.

Thankfully, it wasn't a fast process. Where the first strands of Occlumency had been put in place, entangled with the golden threads of thought, they were beginning to fade. And if they were allowed to disappear altogether, the entire web would rip itself apart. But considering he'd created the defences months ago, Severus considered they'd held out well enough – surely a testament to his skills.

No, it wasn't going to be a massive dilemma if the decaying period remained the same. It just meant he'd constantly have to monitor the other's mind and make sure all repairs were thorough.

Which meant yet more irritating encounters with Lupin.

Irritating, because Severus had noticed they'd actually developed a _routine_ somewhere along the way¸ and it disturbed him greatly.

That afternoon, he'd pushed the table away to one side of the room, clearing them a space between the two chairs near the fire. At the foot of these chairs, he'd placed cushions on the floor, careful that they be the usual distance apart. Then – which, in retrospect, was the part that really distressed him – he'd taken out the half empty bottle of brandy at the far back of his cupboards and, unthinking of his actions, left it alongside two small glasses on the table. He'd remembered the werewolf was normally shaken after Legilimency sessions, and the alcohol tended to steady the nerves.

What bothered him was that it was... well, it had been a _considerate _gesture. Since when did he care if Lupin had the shakes for a half hour or so? It wasn't a problem. It wouldn't affect the webs.

And so, it was a very distracted Severus Snape who drifted through Remus's mind, touching on strands of thought and Occlumency, tying them back together where necessary, predicting how much longer some of them would last, and casting only cursory glances over the memories that flashed up in front of him. He had, he decided, let himself get entirely too caught up in the werewolf's existence. It was the Legilimency, he was convinced. They were sharing thoughts through it, sharing secrets, emotions. He was learning far too much about the other man, learning... _empathy_. Oh, how he hated that word.

It had to stop.

Annoyed with himself, he pulled back, releasing Lupin from the spell and rising quickly to his feet. "The web is fixed. It should last for another week, at least," he said briskly, turning his back.

Remus watched him curiously as he waited to regain his equilibrium. It hadn't escaped his notice that, for once, Severus had afforded him some privacy, barely flicking through his memories as though disinterested. He wondered if the novelty had worn off, or if there was some other reason for the sudden disassociation.

He remained quiet as the Potions Master seemed to hesitate where he stood, then finally moved away a little and picked up a bottle of amber liquid, pouring a small amount into one of the two glasses at hand. Efficiently, he took it and strode across to where Remus still sat on the floor, holding it out to him without expression.

The werewolf raised an eyebrow in surprise, shocked into not responding.

Severus frowned impatiently. "Well? It isn't poison, I assure you," he drawled. "And _do_ get up, for God's sake."

Automatically, Remus levered himself awkwardly into the chair. Oh, but he wasn't a young man anymore, and sitting cross-legged for such long periods of time was playing havoc on his joints. Wincing, he took the proffered glass, but simply held it, feeling oddly self-conscious.

Rather than drink, he began to talk, a habit when he was nervous or uncomfortable. "I notice you didn't pry anything from me this time. Growing bored with my memories, Severus?"

Dark eyes regarded him steadily, coldly. "Not quite," he murmured eventually, withdrawing to his own chair, where he regarded the werewolf with the same emotionless stare. "I simply find that I'm... beginning to know you too well for my own comfort."

Remus blinked. Well. He certainly hadn't expected that level of honesty from his companion. A sense of intrigue instantly rose inside him, and he leaned forward, mouth open to ask some unformed question. Just in time, some inner voice of caution warned him not to push. Severus would clamp up and order him from the room in a second if he began to feel awkward.

Instead, he decided to swerve the conversation in a different direction, hopefully one that would keep the other man's interest.

"Would you ever trust someone being inside your mind?" Remus asked at length, as if it was a matter of casual conversation. "The same way I let you inside mine?"

The Potions Master snorted and answered immediately, "No."

"Hardly surprising," the werewolf teased, watching the light swirl and flash in the depths of his drink. "Unfair, though," he commented.

"How?" Severus found himself demanding, a little incredulously.

Remus shrugged. "Well, you have unrestricted access to all my secrets –"

"That you _insisted _on. You'll recall I wanted nothing to do with the idea –"

"Yes, I remember something of the sort, Severus. My only point is that... Oh, never mind." He made a show of lowering his eyes and taking a sip of what turned out to be brandy.

Severus sneered ever so slightly. "You wouldn't _want _to access my secrets, Lupin."

The werewolf looked up innocently, but remained silent.

The lack of response, which he interpreted as scepticism, prompted the Potions Master to continue snidely. "They would shock your delicate Gryffindor sensibilities, I'm sure. And I guarantee your misguided... _attraction _would come to an abrupt end." He paused, then smirked unpleasantly. "On that note, I'm almost tempted to tell you..."

It surprised and unnerved him to receive a smirk in return. The expression didn't quite sit right on Lupin's face.

"You say that as if I'd never known you, Severus," the werewolf said wryly. "I'm well aware of the type of things you've done in the past. My delicate sensibilities aren't quite as horror-stricken as you seem to expect."

The Potion Master's lip curled. "Then you're more deluded than I thought. What, exactly, do you see me as?"

"Now _there's_ a question..." Remus murmured to himself, shaking his head a little. He considered, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at the Potions Master. "...I know, to some extent, what you're capable of. You were a Death Eater – willingly so, in the beginning. I could only guess at the crimes you've committed in your time, Severus, but I fear none of them would surprise me... What I see now is that you're no longer that person."

The man glared back, stubborn. "And you'd know," he muttered snidely.

"Some observations don't require Legilimency," the werewolf replied simply. "I know perfectly well who and what you are – and you might note my 'misguided attraction' lives on."

Severus scowled, thoroughly taken aback. He watched Lupin down the remainder of his drink and rise to his feet, visibly steadier than usual. He also looked oddly satisfied – almost triumphant – leaving the Potions Master with the confused sense that he'd just been one-upped in whatever private, unspoken competition now seemed to exist between them.

xxx

Harry was used to walking back with the Slytherin after DA meetings. Even if he only stopped at the other's room for a few moments, just to listen to Draco's short-tempered commentary on the events of the lesson, before returning to his own dormitory, it was just habit to split from the rest of the group and follow the blonde towards the door.

So when Ron stopped him with a pointed look, Hermione tactfully fading into the background, he hesitated awkwardly. Draco turned when he noticed his companion had paused, and quickly saw the predicament. Automatically, he narrowed his eyes at the redhead, willing him to go away. Permanently.

Harry cast him a pleading glance, and Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. Bloody Gryffindors. Entirely too forgiving, the lot of them. If anyone had treated _him _the way Weasley had Harry, he'd probably still be planning their downfall, if not enacting it already. Certainly not entertaining the notion of _forgiveness_.

With a final vicious look for the redhead, he turned on his heel and quit the room in high dudgeon. Harry let him go, knowing full well he was in for a few days of sulking from the blonde.

Ron looked vaguely perplexed. "Demanding little git, isn't he?" he muttered.

"You have no idea..."

His friend gave him a vaguely disgusted look, obviously wondering – for the hundredth time – what Harry saw in the Slytherin.

As the majority of the DA dissipated, they trailed behind, Ron with his hands stuffed self-consciously into his pockets, Harry waiting calmly for the oncoming conversation.

"So..." the redheaded wizard said at length.

Harry fought back a smile, but stayed quiet.

Ron darted a look at him, visibly embarrassed. "...We okay?"

"Not up to me, is it?" Harry responded neutrally.

"Yeah, well..." Ron sighed heavily. "Look. You could spend _hours _trying to explain to me why and how you've lost the urge to hex Malfoy between the eyes, and I still wouldn't understand. But... I'm sick of not talking to you."

Green eyes passed fleetingly over him, guarded. In silence, they continued up the staircase that led towards the tower.

Eventually, Ron mumbled quietly, "M'sorry for hitting you, by the way. And trying to... y'know –"

"Curse me?" Harry finished for him, still hiding his amusement. When the redhead flushed guiltily, he allowed himself a small smile. "Yeah, alright. No harm done, I guess."

"To _you_. Merlin, whatever Malfoy hit me with gave me a hangover for three days!" He sighed and shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day when he defended_ you_."

Harry looked at him. "I could have told you he'd changed, you know, if you'd listened..."

"Hermione said something like that... Can we not talk about him anymore?" Ron asked pleadingly. "Fine, the bastard's _reformed_, but he's still a bastard."

Harry consented with a shrug, leaving Ron to fill the awkward wordlessness.

"My God, the girls haven't shut up about you since that Seeker's game, y'know." He snorted, and burst into a high-pitched impression. "'Oh, Harry's _soooo _cool.' Honestly, mate, it's getting seriously annoying."

Harry chuckled, but otherwise seemed to take no notice of a tidbit of information that the redhead considered valuable indeed.

He stared at the other boy sceptically. "What, you're not interested? You sure you're not seeing someone you haven't told me about?"

Harry smiled serenely. "Ron, I can honestly promise you that I do _not _have a girlfriend."

xxx

Severus was just preparing for bed that night when the pain struck him. He clasped his arm in shock, dropping the glass of water he'd been holding at the time. His first thought, borne of habit, was of how long it would take him to get dressed and Floo to Hogsmeade, where he could then Apparate to the meeting spot.

But no. That was no longer his job, was it?

Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself into the chair by the fire, where he'd sat with Lupin that evening, and forced himself to ignore the call blazing through his Mark and resist the urge to go find the werewolf. Lupin wouldn't need to be warned or prepared. He'd feel the same call right now, and would probably be hurrying to bid a quick farewell to Potter – how annoyingly sentimental, Severus had thought ever since the other man had informed him of the promise he'd made the boy. This was why Gryffindor shouldn't be employed in this kind of work. They wasted time with _emotion_.

Sighing, he clenched his fingers, watching tendons move along his forearm, beneath the burning tattoo.

In a moment, he would firecall Dumbledore and inform the old man that Lupin would be absent from classes tomorrow in the aftermath of a Death Eater meeting. In a moment...

He just had to calm himself first.


	38. Motives

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL **(more like preslash in the case of the latter I'm beginning to realise.) **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 38**: Motives

xxx

Ron was not the quickest of thinkers, but when a particular suspicion occurred to him – and repeatedly popped into his head when he was least expecting its presence, resulting in the most interesting expressions springing into life – even he could no longer ignore the unwelcome thoughts.

Currently, he was sat with Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor breakfast table. While the rest of his housemates exuded a sense of relief to see their Trio talking again, Harry was tenser than ever. Once again, he was worried about Remus, who'd been called away in the middle of the night and had yet to return or be heard from. The boy stared morosely at his food, glaring at a dry piece of toast and poking at his bowl of soggy cornflakes.

From the corner of his eye, Ron saw the Slytherin breeze into the room. He scowled, unable to rid himself of the automatic resentment that filled him, but his attention stayed on Harry. Green eyes blinked themselves into awareness, slowly flicking up to settle on the blonde, following him as he crossed the Hall.

The Suspicion pounded away in Ron's mind, but he shoved it violently aside, shaking his head.

Around them, a dozen conversations that would normally be considered riveting were taking place. Hermione and Ginny were talking about the DA meetings – what was coming up, what they'd already covered, what an improvement it was over _Snape _as a DADA Professor. Katie was telling anyone who would listen about the Quidditch matches that were scheduled for the rest of that year, the strategies they'd use, and the plans she had to incorporate Harry's Seeker skills. And across from them, Seamus was leading a conversation on the usually fascinating topic of, quite simply, girls. Beneath the table, he passed around a magazine containing Merlin only knew what kind of brilliant pictures...

And throughout it all, Harry's attention never strayed from the bloody Slytherin. Ron twitched with pure frustration.

The Suspicion reared in him, and he found himself turning to Hermione with an expression of mild panic.

She was waiting for him, it seemed. Calmly, momentarily breaking away from her conversation with Ginny, she looked at him inquisitively. "Ron, you _have _finished Professor Snape's essay, haven't you? It's due in today, you know."

His eyes went wide. Essay...? What essay? Why hadn't she told him before _now_?

He vaguely recalled being given some long winded title he hadn't been able to make heads nor tails of, and instructed that he was to write a full roll of parchment on the subject. Shit! Snape would give him detention for a month if he didn't have _something _to show, not to mention the amount of _points _he'd take...!

"Gotta go."

Hermione watched with a sense of satisfaction as the redheaded wizard rushed off, presumably to make some last-ditch attempt at his homework. She'd seen the frown that had slowly gathered on his face, and known what it meant.

Leaning across, she poked Harry sharply in the ribs, making him jump and recoil. "Stop being so obvious!" she hissed at him, and had turned away before his look of incredulity had even been fully realised.

xxx

The day dragged on forever, until by the end of it Harry felt exhausted. Not from class work – which he'd tuned out for the most part – but from worry. Remus had said he probably wouldn't be away for the whole night, and certainly not this late into the day. He still couldn't believe this was happening _again_...

It had been great timing that he and Ron had made up the previous evening. He suspected he would have lost his temper entirely if the other boy had continued his sulking any longer, the mood he was in. As it was, both Ron and Hermione had come through for him, offering what useless comfort they could.

But, just as he'd suspected last time, being in their presence only made it worse. They might like the adult werewolf well enough, but neither would be devastated in the same way as Harry if he didn't come back. They didn't know what to say, afraid of acting too normal or too happy in case he took it as insensitivity.

Which had led him here.

"Hello, Lilith."

The portrait immediately lit up, giving him a smile that showed far too many teeth. Harry hid a flinch. It wasn't something he'd readily admit to, but he suspected that, had he ever known the Sorceress in real life, she'd have scared the hell out of him.

"You didn't drop by last night," she pointed out, with a pout of discontent. She'd grown accustomed to his presence, at least for a minute or two, each evening of late.

"Er, yeah... Had some things to sort out."

She stared at him expectantly, watching him shift from foot to foot, coughing uncomfortably.

"So... can you let me in?" he asked finally.

She sighed and swung forward, not even bothering to _mention_ the existence of a password anymore. It was only Draco she demanded it of, occasionally changing it without his knowledge just to amuse herself.

Harry stepped past her, knocking out of politeness on the door frame to give the Slytherin fair warning he was coming. "Draco?"

The boy was sat on the couch, the table pulled towards him with rolls of parchment spread across it, quill in hand and hovering over whatever essay he was halfway through writing. He looked up dazedly at the interruption, grey eyes blinking a few times before focusing properly on the other.

He sat back then and stretched, eyeing Harry. "So is the Golden Trio back to its former glory?"

The Gryffindor raised an unimpressed eyebrow and moved to take a seat, propping one foot up on the table edge, purposely to annoy the blonde. "You don't have to sound _so _unhappy about it."

Glaring, Draco elbowed him until he removed the offending foot. "Well I'm hardly ecstatic," he snapped. "_God_, you're an idiot, Potter –"

"What happened to 'Harry'?"

"I'm bloody well annoyed with you! It's remaining 'Potter' until further notice!"

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes and settled in for the inevitable rant.

Sure enough, the Slytherin tossed down the quill and turned on him, arms folded. "I can't _believe _all Weasley has to do is mutter some half-arsed apology and you'll take him back like nothing happened. Merlin, if he were in Slytherin..." With malicious satisfaction, Draco thought about exactly how the redheaded wizard would be taught to respect his betters. "Did you just _forget_ how he's acted this past week?"

Harry looked back at him pointedly. "Yes, actually, I have. Same way I've forgotten _everything _you've ever done to me in the past _five years_." He smiled wryly. "It's a talent of mine."

The blonde stopped midsentence, looking put out. He narrowed his eyes. "Is there something you wanted?"

Harry briefly considered what it said about himself that _this _was the treatment he found comforting in times of stress. He'd never thought he'd live to see the day when arguing with Draco was so thoroughly therapeutic and... welcome.

"Since when do I need a reason to be here?"

The blonde looked unimpressed. "Once, you did," he pointed out dryly, realising it wasn't at all long ago that they would have avoided each other's company at all costs.

Harry smiled, and suddenly he was a lot closer. Draco schooled his expression blank, trying not to smirk. Oh, this should be amusing. Potter clumsily trying to hit on him, still awkward in the first stages of... whatever this was. He wasn't willing to say 'relationship' yet. It was enough that he'd added a 'yet' to the end of that thought at all...

Calmly, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head away teasingly. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be fretting away over Lupin right now?" It sounded insensitive, but he knew the Gryffindor would take it as intended – his coded version of _Are you alright? _"How spectacularly callous of you, Harry."

Green eyes darkened for a moment, then regained their spark. "Yeah, well, you're a good distraction..." And that, Draco knew, was an equally coded version of _I don't want to talk about it_.

Well, he could do that. Talking would hardly be a priority...

Acting with far more confidence than the Gryffindor, bypassing the teenage hormones that sought to make him nervous or too eager and instead falling back on the wolf's clear-cut instincts, Draco leaned forward and kissed the other boy solidly on the mouth, holding him in place with one hand at the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the black strands.

He pulled back after a few moments, observing with satisfaction the stunned expression he'd caused. "Distracted yet?"

Wide eyed, with a vaguely surprised grin, Harry nodded. "...Getting there," he admitted. Then, as if realising what they were doing, he looked down as colour flooded his cheeks. "This is... _really_ weird."

The Slytherin rolled his eyes. "Well, duh..." he muttered. "What did you expect? That we'd just slip into some easy little arrangement?" He hid his own discomfort by injecting perhaps more sarcasm than necessary into the demand.

"_No_, I didn't expect that..." He continued to stare downwards, watching Draco's long fingers fiddle absently with his Gryffindor tie. Ironic, he thought, that now it was the other boy who seemed more comfortable with this, even though Draco had fought far harder against it.

Meanwhile, the blonde stared at him intently, frowning. At the mere flicker of hesitancy from Harry, he'd felt his stomach go cold. Could he do this? Was it worth the risk to himself even trying...? If he let himself get used to this – used to the idea that maybe, _maybe _they could do this and it could work – and then something went wrong...

What if people found out? Would either of them be willing to suffer the inevitable publicity and controversy that followed? Could he bear to drop another bombshell on his mother, who had already been gracious enough to forgive him the shame of being a werewolf...?

What if Potter wasn't as serious as he claimed? Surely, he couldn't be. Just like Draco, he hadn't done this before. He didn't know what it involved. He didn't know what he was getting into. To him, this was an experiment. Maybe he was gay, maybe not – this was a convenient way of finding out.

And _even _if he did intend, in his Gryffindor nobility, to see this through, out of curiosity or something more, he had no idea of the full extent of Draco's expectations. And Draco couldn't help it. He had no _choice _but to consider what he was getting himself into more seriously than he'd ever considered anything.

It was stupid, what he was doing. Trying to satisfy the craving in him, but only succeeding in this... this half-experience that could never last. He didn't delude himself it could last. This was _Harry Potter_, destined for glory in the world of Light, the wizarding hero and martyr of their time, who would no doubt marry some pretty little respectable girl and produce three or four brats of his own. That rose-tinted future certainly didn't include his bit on the side in the form of a Dark, _male _wizard and werewolf.

Shaking his head, Draco began to disentangle himself from the other boy, suddenly longing for distance.

"Don't," Harry said automatically, and the blonde froze despite himself.

And that was another sign that not everything was quite right, wasn't it? The compulsions. They still worked, even though Draco had given in to what the wolf wanted; given in and confessed that, yes, he actually wanted his mate.

The Gryffindor sighed. "...Sorry," he murmured, when he realised what he'd done. "I'm trying..."

"I know," the blonde responded quietly, but wasn't at all sure if he believed that or not.

Still, now was hardly the time to get into an argument over it. Every time he glanced at the other boy, he could see the shadows of worry and stress behind green eyes, and Draco knew he couldn't add to them, no matter how frustrated he felt. He could be selfless. Sometimes.

Putting his own feelings aside, he affected a smirk. "Yeah, well, practice makes perfect," he commented. "Keep trying, Potter."

Harry finally raised his eyes, amused, just in time to find himself with an armful of blonde distraction.

xxx

He spent the day and late evening in the Slytherin's room. Eventually, Draco got around to finishing whatever homework he'd previously been writing, and Harry watched him do it in thoughtful silence.

They had kissed and tentatively groped for the better part of an hour, and to his slight mortification, Harry could still see the evidence in the form of his own bite mark, dark against the Slytherin's pale throat. He blushed to look at it, but couldn't help grinning.

But while he might have been content with the vaguely embarrassed sense of happiness, nothing he did was settling his thoughts. As the hours went by, his mind only became more and more troubled.

At first, he had thought solely of Remus, frantically questioning whether the man was okay, whether he was coming back or not, and what new horror he'd bring back with him if he did.

Then, as he continued to watch his Slytherin companion, thoughts had merged to create new worries.

Remus had always said that werewolves mated for life. And from what Harry had gathered, there was only ever one person in the world that could fill the position of 'mate'. There was no choice in that person, and no guarantee that a wolf would ever even find that person. But when and if they did, Remus had said, there was no one else that would do.

So what the hell was Draco doing with _him_, when he must know he had a real mate out there somewhere...?

Harry didn't feel up to contemplating Draco's motives, however, so pushed the thoughts from his head.

Sometime around curfew, he noticed the Slytherin starting to doze and shook his head in exasperation. Merlin, but Draco got tired ridiculously early. He really had to start teasing him about that...

And so, it wasn't long before he found himself staring resignedly into space, Draco slumped against his side, head resting on his shoulder. Even Vanima was curled up near the fireplace, fast asleep and of no entertainment value to him.

He stretched, trying to ease the kink from his back without disturbing the dozing blonde. Almost immediately, he felt something jab into his side and sighed with frustration. Annoyed, he twisted an arm behind himself and groped around until he found the offending object. Grasping it, he tugged, and found himself hauling a heavy book out from where it had been shoved and lost under the couch cushions.

Intrigued, he eyed it curiously. Why had Draco left it here, instead of on the bookshelf in his bedroom...?

Setting it down on the armrest of the couch, he examined the cover. It was a book on werewolves, he realised quickly. That made sense. Remus had probably given it to him so that he could study the curse and learn what he was in for.

Idly flipping it open, he ran his fingers over the pages, tracing the words of the introduction. Bored, he figured he had nothing better to do than read the thing, considering Draco was out for the count while _he _remained wide awake.

Flicking further on, he suddenly noticed that quite a few pages had been marked. Turning to one of them at random, he scanned the chapter title, raised an eyebrow, and started to read.

_Chapter Eighteen: Werewolf Mates... _


	39. Something In Common

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL **(more like preslash in the case of the latter I'm beginning to realise.) **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 39**: Something In Common

xxx

In the privacy of his rooms, Severus stared at the brand in his forearm and silently despised it.

More than he had in years, he _hated _the sight of it. It sickened him. He couldn't concentrate on anything _beyond _the hate. He wanted it gone, wanted his flesh burned clean of the taint, the disfiguration, and had to resist the urge to rake his nails across it.

Increasingly, this had been the case for days. No, a week, he realised.

A week since Lupin had gone.

A week since he'd been called away by the very same Mark that burned resentfully in his skin. Never once had the dull, stinging pain of the tattoo either relented or flared. It simply went on, a constant, unchanging sensation, that told him nothing of the Dark Lord's mood or activities.

He despised the brand entirely. It wasn't even of any _use _to him! Had it flashed with pain, he might have known... might have guessed Lupin's fate. The Mark usually only burned like that when the Lord had committed a particularly satisfying kill. Like a werewolf close to Harry Potter.

But there was nothing. No sign from the tattoo, neither good nor bad, of what had transpired this last week.

He imagined Potter, with his scar and similarly unhelpful link to the Dark Lord, understood his current mood as no one else did. Neither of them knew what was happening – which was perhaps the worst part – though he suspected the boy was practically _inviting _visions of the Lord's activities, such as he'd received last year, when he'd been able to save the life of Arthur Weasley as a result. How frustrating, that he could see nothing of Lupin...

Severus closed his eyes in exhaustion. Now, in his desperation, he could admit, in the private recesses of his mind, that he evidently... _cared_, somewhat, about the werewolf, as distasteful as the mere idea was.

He'd just _known _that Legilimency had been a bad idea...

He'd fallen into a trap somewhere along the way. He'd gotten to know the shabby little man, and _that wasn't supposed to happen_! He didn't want someone in his life that actually had an effect when they left! That was why he and Narcissa had been such compatible allies: their friendship was clinical, both of them realising that true attachment wasn't possible or practical.

When had he lost sight of that rule?

He suspected it was somehow Lupin's fault. Wasn't it _always _Lupin's fault...? God damned Gryffindor pest! Wreaking havoc on his reserved Slytherin sensibilities...

Uninvited, the thought occurred to him that the Gryffindor pest may not be around any longer to do more damage.

Severus sighed and rubbed his temples.

He supposed he should be thankful that, even in this weakened state, he wasn't half as emotional as Potter. The wreck the boy had deteriorated into was grating to the extreme.

And on the tail of that thought came his pity for Draco. Patience had never been his godson's strong point. And so close to the full moon, due to rise tonight –

He sat up straight in his chair, so fast it hurt his neck, eyes wide and staring unseeingly ahead.

And in that moment, useless Dark Mark or not, he knew Lupin's fate.

xxx

Draco considered himself a saint. A _saint_!

He had tapped into every reserve of tolerance, compassion and affection he had for the bloody Boy Who Lived in this last week, but Merlin help him, his nerves were fraying thin. _How _Potter's famous sidekicks had seen him through five years of previous crises without losing their minds, he'd never know, because he was barely lasting the week. He was almost – _almost _– developing something verging on respect for Weasley, just thinking it.

Oh yes, _now _he recalled the Suicidal Saviour from earlier this year. Well, he'd made his unwelcome reappearance, and Draco didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do to make it better. He was hardly the comforting _type_, after all...

Besides, what did one do or say to comfort someone like Harry?

The boy took 'troubled' to a new level. With anyone else, Draco would have long given up and condemned them to their own melodrama. He was _sick _of running into a panicked Granger half an hour before curfew, only to realise that between them they'd once again lost track of the git. And _then _– oh, the fun part – he got to spend his late evenings scouring castle grounds, usually to find the Gryffindor out by the lake – the _lake_! – sodden and freezing and ridden with teenage angst.

And then there were the flashes of temper that came when Draco was least expecting them. It occurred to him, during the second vicious round of name-calling that broke out between them sometime around Thursday, in which Potter informed him that he was a cold-hearted prick with the emotional range of a rock, and he retaliated by calmly suggesting the Wizarding Hero go cut his wrists and be done – it occurred to him that perhaps he wasn't quite as equipped to be a one-man support system as he might have liked.

Which had led him here.

Merlin help him, if this didn't speak _volumes _of his commitment to the ungrateful bastard, he didn't know what would...

Directly across from him, Weasley glared gormlessly. God. Even with his promise to be civil, he couldn't help sneering at the moronic expression of the other wizard. Granger cleared her throat sharply, obviously a reprimand, but he ignored her and looked away, disdainful.

The three had taken seats at the back of the library, fairly inconspicuous to anyone who might pass by. Draco still couldn't believe he'd agreed to this, yet here he sat, finally a member of the infamous Trio, and how he hated it...

"I trust you left him somewhere your housemates can keep an eye on him?" he drawled at length, glancing at Granger.

It was Weasley who spoke up – uninvited, he might add. "He's not a mental case, Malfoy. The way _you _say it, anyone'd think he's ready to jump off the Astronomy Tower..."

Grey eyes narrowed. "I know you can be excessively slow on the uptake, but hasn't it dawned on you yet that Harry exhibits classic signs of depression –?"

The witch among them leaned forward, cutting across him. "Stop it, both of you," she hissed. Then, calming, she continued, "I left him with Ginny, Neville and Luna, and he's got Quidditch practice in a little while. Ron will be with him then, and this evening I'll –"

"I don't believe you're scheduling this," Ron muttered, his chin resting heavily in his palm.

"I don't believe we're depending on _you_," Draco retorted snidely, earning himself an insulting hand gesture, to which he raised a dismissive eyebrow.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Okay. The thing is... I think we're going to have to face the fact that... well, it's very possible Remus won't be coming back."

The Slytherin fought not to show any reaction, even as the wolf in him pricked up its ears and whined, grieving the loss of its pack leader.

"None of us were as close to him as Harry," she went on, oblivious to the werewolf's darkening mood, "but it's obvious he's taking this as hard as he did Sirius's death. Ron, you saw him last time..."

The redhead slumped. "Yeah... But we didn't know how to pull him out of it then. What makes it any different now?" He snorted in cynical amusement. "Hope you're not counting on Malfoy's _healing presence_..."

Draco resisted the urge to kick the other under the table, but just barely. Still, the idiot did bring up a point, though it would be hard to communicate with him sat there.

He stared at Granger until she realised he was trying to get her attention. "You do realise I'm not going to be much help for the next three days?" he asked pointedly, confident that the redhead wouldn't pick up on what he was implying even if he'd worn a neon sign.

She nodded, understanding his meaning. With the transformations so close, he barely had the self-control to keep himself in check during everyday situations, his temper usually strained to the limit. Arguing with Harry, or fretting uselessly whenever he disappeared off on his own, would tip him over the edge. He'd happily booked himself into the isolation of his room until the full moon had ended, which unfortunately meant he wouldn't be traipsing out to the lake at half eleven just to drag the Gryffindor back inside.

This was the reason he'd caved and agreed to cooperation with these two. There had to be someone he could rely on to keep Potter in check while he was incapacitated – and while he wouldn't trust Weasley to do the job in a million years, Granger was just anal enough to depend on.

"What do you mean, you're not gonna be much help?" the redhead suddenly demanded, scowling. "I knew you couldn't really be bothered with –"

"Oh, grow up, Weasley! If I 'couldn't be bothered' do you actually think I'd be subjecting myself to your company?"

Hermione sighed and saw the meeting rapidly going downhill. The only reason they were here was to try and sort out a method of taking care of Harry, but it didn't seem they could work together at all. But then, what had she expected, putting Ron and Draco in the same room together...?

She glanced at the Slytherin, just in time to see his expression flicker in anger. She caught a glimpse of ice-white eyes before he looked away, vicious.

It surprised her to realise she felt sympathy for the boy. It was obvious he was out of his depth, trying to deal with his clueless mate's grief without any idea where to start. At least she and Ron had reasonable experience in this kind of situation. She supposed he was doing the best he could, with the inadequate emotional skills Lucius Malfoy had left him with.

"Okay, I think we're done here," she said abruptly, standing up. She glanced at the blonde and nodded. "He'll be fine."

Draco sneered. "It's only three days, Granger. He'd better be." And with that, he left them, stalking out of the library with haughty dignity.

Ron turned to her. "What's so important about the next three days? Do you know something I don't?"

She shrugged evasively. "No idea. Maybe it's – Oh. I think I've lost an earring. You can't see it, can you?"

She watched as the redhead obediently peered under the table and decided that _that_ had been the worst change of subject she'd ever thought up.

Especially since she wasn't wearing earrings.

xxx

A few miles away, at the borders of the quaint little wizarding village of Hogsmeade, the first cracks of multiple Apparation rang out, muffled by the frost and mist that hung in the air. Quickly, the deserted space outside the Shrieking Shack filled with dark robed wizards, so fast that, even if the Hogsmeade inhabitants had noticed them appearing, they would never have been in time to do anything...

xxx

Harry felt as if something had struck him between the eyes. He gasped and clapped a hand over his forehead, where pain exploded like little stars behind his eyes. Distantly, he was aware of Ron grabbing his arm to keep him upright, and babbling worriedly in his ear, but the words didn't reach him.

Images were unfolding in the depth of his mind, the vision he'd been willing and waiting for since Remus left.

xxx

Severus fretted, indecisive for once in his life.

What was he supposed to do? Tell Dumbledore? What, exactly, would he say? All he had were guesses, speculation, a vague theory based on the belief that he could predict the motives of the Dark Lord.

But it made _sense_. With uncanny intuition, Severus knew – he _knew _– why Lupin had been Marked, why he had been taken, and what was due to happen these nights of the full moon.

And if he told them, and they believed him, what then? What would they do? What _could _they do?

Before he could waver any more on the subject, the fireplace flared emerald. It didn't startle him. With a sense of resignation, he turned towards it to see Minerva peering out at him with wide, dark eyes.

"Severus. There's word from Hogsmeade, it's –"

"Under attack," he finished for her, emotionless.

She blinked. "Wha– How did you know?"

"The Mark," he answered shortly, and while it was true it had started to burn about twenty minutes ago, he'd known before even that.

"Well, Dumbledore is calling for members of the Order to meet in his office. See to your House first, Severus, make sure they remain in their common room until further notice. In a few minutes, the Headmaster is shutting down the Floo network, all but his own fireplace. The school is in lockdown."

He nodded to show he understood and watched her disappear, the hearth going cold and dark in the absence of the green flame.

For long moments, he stood frozen where she'd left him, struggling with himself. His loyalty to Dumbledore – not to mention sheer common sense – urged him to go about his duties as Minerva had instructed him. He should be checking on his Slytherins. He should be meeting the rest of the Order, listening to the plan of defence being set out for them.

But...

He clenched a fist and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate.

This was why Lupin had been Marked. The Dark Lord had probably never really trusted him, merely seeing him as a weapon. He would be there tonight, no doubt against his will, but there nonetheless. And if Severus knew anything of Death Eater tactics, they would not have allowed him Wolfsbane. They would let him transform, mindless, and loose him on the village.

It was a terrorist stunt.

It would be left up to the Order to stop him, if they could. What lengths would they go to? Would they be prepared to kill or capture?

Would they have a choice...?

But...

Moving automatically, he hurriedly shed the heavy outer robe that tended to hinder in the midst of battle, making sure to slip his wand into the sleeve of the black shirt he wore underneath. Then, tying his hair back, also for efficiency, he made for the door.

However, he paused once there, hand gripping the handle too tightly.

Was he prepared to be part of the Order tonight, knowing what they would have to do? He'd always prided himself on being able to do what was necessary, however horrible, however unpopular, however objectionable. He should be hardened to this. Hadn't he preached to Lupin himself about the sacrifices of war?

But...

Turning back, he went swiftly to the shelves at the back of his room, grabbed a vial of potion and jogged out into the hallway, door slamming closed behind him.

xxx

Blissfully unaware of the panic that had suddenly gripped the school, hidden away in his private room where no one had yet thought to warn him, Draco swallowed the last of his Wolfsbane with a grimace and set the cup down, returning to the book he only ever took out when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself. He was just at the part where Mr Darcy first set eyes on Elizabeth Bennet...

He jumped despite himself when the portrait door was thrown open, looking up in surprise to see Harry ducking into the room, radiating urgency. The Slytherin blinked, his first inane thought being to question why the Gryffindor wasn't down at the Quidditch pitch, as Granger had said he would be.

Then he noticed the blood.

He was on his feet in a second, practically pinning the other boy to the wall in his insistency to examine his forehead, where the lightning bolt scar stood out in violent red.

"What happened?"

Harry pushed away the concerned hands impatiently. "Vision," he muttered. "Draco, Remus is still alive."

It took the Slytherin a second to absorb the information. He stared wordlessly for long moments, then shook his head. "You're sure?"

"Yes," he said quickly, even while bracing against the guilty clench of his stomach. Sure. Sure in the same way he'd been sure Sirius needed him last time...

Still, he couldn't take the chance. And what was there to lose anyway, with Remus already gone?

"We have to go. We have to go _now_, I've got to do something!"

Draco reached out and grabbed the other's shoulders, trying to calm him until he could figure out what was going on. "What are you talking about?"

"They're attacking Hogsmeade –"

"_What_?"

"Right now! And they've got Remus with them. Draco... he doesn't have Wolfsbane."

The blonde went motionless as the situation dawned on him. He stared at wide green eyes, and immediately saw the intent behind them.

"You are _not _going down there on some... some _rescue _mission!" To emphasise his words, his grip tightened until he saw the Gryffindor wince and try to pull away. He didn't relent.

"Let me _go_. I came here because I _trusted_ you'd understand!"

Draco looked incredulous. "You can't expect me to endorseyour moronic heroics!"

"I expect you to help me!" With an effort, he freed himself with a shove to the blonde's chest. "Don't you care? They're going to make him attack innocent people!"

"That doesn't mean _you _have to –"

Harry didn't even let him finish. He turned away, back towards the portrait, pushing it open a crack and peering into the hallway. He hadn't had the chance to stop by his common room to grab Cloak or Map, which was the only reason McGonagall hadn't collared him yet. He was going to have to risk getting to one of the secret passages on his own, without the use of either item.

That had been why he'd stopped here, instead. No, he didn't want to drag Draco into battle, but he would have liked to employ his werewolf senses, just until he got free of the castle. It would have made being caught so much easier to avoid.

Seeing the coast was clear, he made to step outside, but the werewolf's iron grasp closed on his wrist.

"Potter, don't you dare walk away from me like this!"

He was yanked backwards and spun around, Draco's hold encircling him and pinning his own arms to his sides, not allowing for movement. The Slytherin's chin rested on his shoulder, staring past him, so when he spoke, his voice was right next to Harry's ear.

"You are _not _disappearing out there on your own. You could get yourself killed! I know damn well you have a hero complex, but for _Merlin's sake_ –"

"Draco..."

The blonde ignored him with difficulty. "You know I could _make _you stay here, even if it means I have to do _this _for however long it takes!" He tightened his hold almost painfully.

Harry didn't try to struggle. "I could _make _you let go," he said simply, and waited for the reaction.

Draco's nails scratched at his back possessively. "You said you wouldn't use the compulsions!"

"This is different! This is _important_!"

"_Fuck_!" In frustration, he pushed the Gryffindor away as hard as he could. Forgetting werewolf strength, he sent him slamming into the wall, where he groaned in pain.

Harry caught himself before he fell, and sent a lethal glare at the blonde. "_Fine_," he spat, and tried again to exit.

Draco stared after him in furious indecision. He wanted nothing more than to do exactly what he'd threatened – forcefully haul his mate back here and, if he had to, sit on him till he was rid of this ridiculous notion. But he couldn't, because the compulsions made it impossible. He _still _couldn't disobey a direct order from the other boy, as Harry well knew.

But that meant the only other option was to go with him. To _willingly _walk into danger. To put his precious self at risk for someone else's benefit!

He was a Malfoy! And a Slytherin! Neither of whom would do anything so stupid if they had an alternative. And...

Deny it all he liked, deep down, he was a bit of a coward. And when he said 'a bit'–

Oh for Merlin's sake. Throwing sensible thoughts such as these to the wind, he hurried to catch up.

The Gryffindor had stormed out of the room and halfway along the hall, without any real idea of where he was going, before he realised Draco had followed him every step of the way. Turning on the other boy, he folded his arms and demanded harshly, "What?"

Grey eyes regarded him coldly. "I'm coming with you, what do you think? If nothing else, you'd run into Filch in five minutes without me." Then, calmly, he strode past.

Harry bit back an insult as he stalked after him. "You don't have to –"

"Don't even _finish _that sentence, Potter. At least give me that much respect." The blonde curled a lip self-deprecatingly. He couldn't believe he was not only allowing this idiocy, but aiding it as well. Still, what choice did he have, really? It was this, or let the git charge to his death all alone in the name of nobility.

At least this way, he had a thoroughly pissed off werewolf at his side. Good a defence as any, Draco privately thought.

Harry hurried to catch up, and tugged the Slytherin to the right when he would have taken the wrong turning. "We'll take the secret passage into Honeydukes," he explained. "It's this way."

"...Secret passage? How in hell do you know a _secret passage_?"

"Remind me to tell you some time."

They went on in silence, Harry throwing cautious glances at Draco whenever he thought the Slytherin wouldn't notice. Draco, for the most part, was busy straining his werewolf hearing to the limit, trying to make sure they weren't about to run into some professor rounding up stray students. The school unnerved him like this. Still light outside, and yet completely deserted, the silence resounding too loudly in his ears.

"...I have to do this, y'know," the Gryffindor murmured at length.

His companion didn't respond.

"I have... I just... I don't expect you to go any further than you need to. I don't want you hurt as well as Remus, so you can stay here and tell Ron and Hermione –"

Draco, having not paid the slightest bit of attention to what was being said, suddenly threw an arm out, catching him across the chest and knocking the breath from him. Before he knew what was going on, he'd been dragged behind a suit of armour and had the Slytherin pressed up against him, frantically making hushing gestures.

Soundless, he mouthed, "Someone's coming."

They froze and tried to listen, Harry wishing they had something more to hide behind than the inadequate armour. At first he didn't hear anything, but it wasn't long before he, too, heard the hurried footsteps rapidly approaching, and the barely audible whisper of voices.

He noticed Draco frown with something like confusion a second before one of those voices hissed loudly, "Harry?"

Slowly, they peered out into the hallway. No one was there.

Again the voice came. "Harry! Look, Ron, there they are!"

The Gryffindor blinked, perplexed, until he caught a flicker of movement, and two figures seemed to materialise from thin air. Ron stood holding the Marauder's Map, and next to him was Hermione, the Invisibility Cloak over one arm.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded as soon as it dawned on him they must have come looking for him.

Hermione glared at him. "I _knew _you'd do something like this! As soon as we heard I went to check the Map, and there the two of you were, sneaking about the halls! And _you_!" She turned on Draco. "What, may I ask, happened to keeping him in check?"

The blonde almost choked on indignity. "I'll have you know I _physically _tried to stop him!"

"That's working well for you, I see!"

"Oh, and what would you know, Granger? Not like you've ever helped him in one of these ridiculous schemes, right?"

"This is entirely different!"

Caught up in watching the argument and wondering how he was going to drag the pair apart before they made too much noise and got them caught, Harry barely noticed Ron sidle up next to him until he was elbowed in the ribs. "Oy, look at this."

He glanced at the redhead, noting the suspicious frown he wore, and then down to the map he held, and where he was pointing. After a moment, he frowned as well.

"You two. Come here."

Hermione and Draco turned with identical glares, annoyed at being interrupted in what they felt was a reasonable debate. Finally though, with ill grace, they gathered round and all squinted at the map – the Slytherin showing only a brief moment of surprise at such a creation – to see the tiny dot labelled _Severus Snape_ moving towards the castle's exit.

Hermione frowned. "What's he doing? All the teachers are in Dumbledore's office, or with the students..."

Ron grunted. "Knew it! The git really is a Death Eater! Bet he's off to join them!"

Draco sneered at him. "Don't be stupid, Weasley, he's not –" He stopped abruptly, eyes widening. "Oh my God."

"What's wrong?"

The Slytherin turned wide, incredulous eyes on Harry. "He's as insane as _you_!"

"What...?"

"He's actually... I don't... He's going after Lupin!"

They stared at the map in silence, the import of Draco's words slowly filtering in.

"That can't be right..." Ron muttered eventually, shaking his head. The idea of Snape doing a good deed, especially one they themselves were contemplating, skewed the natural order of things, in his mind.

The Slytherin watched the dot that represented his godfather as his thoughts raced. "Harry, where's the passage you were talking about?"

It was indicated, three floors up and half a school away.

Too far. Especially if they intended walking the whole way to Hogsmeade. No, he had a better idea.


	40. Into The Dark

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL **(more like preslash in the case of the latter I'm beginning to realise.) **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 40**: Into The Dark

xxx

Severus did not hold a high opinion of those who flaunted rules and instructions. Unfortunate, that he'd become such an individual himself.

The edges of the school wards were only a short distance away now. As soon as he passed them, he'd be able to Apparate, and hopefully arrive at Hogsmeade before the majority of the Order. Damned unlucky, that Dumbledore had closed off the Floo network a few seconds too soon, making it impossible for him to use a fireplace to get down there. As Minerva had said, only the Headmaster's fire would still be usable for Flooing, and that would mean joining up with the others.

He glanced up at the sky, noting how close it was to sunset. It wouldn't be long, now, before his efforts became in vain.

He hurried his pace.

This was insane, he told himself yet again. What in Salazar's name was he thinking of? Even as he acted, his movements almost automatic, he couldn't decide on a logical explanation. He had never been selfless, or noble, or reckless, or god damned suicidal – which was what this amounted to – so what was he playing at _now_? It was only Lupin, after all. Hadn't he always suspected something like this would happen...?

"Stupid, pathetic, _worthless _excuse for a man! I _knew _he'd get himself caught and –"

Behind him, someone scoffed incredulously.

He whirled around, wand out and pointed at – nothing. Blinking, he looked around in confusion.

For a second, the air before him rippled, before sweeping aside to reveal –

"_Potter_!" he snarled, indignation overcoming perplexity. "What are you doing out here, for Merlin's – Draco?"

The two boys materialised side by side, slipping out from beneath the folds of what was no doubt an Invisibility Cloak. His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out which of them it belonged to, before deciding on the Gryffindor. Draco, he knew, would have bragged about it before now if he owned such a thing.

"How did you get out here?" he couldn't help but snap, before realising what a stupid question it was, considering their disguise. "Both of you, get back inside at once! Do you have _any _idea –"

The Slytherin pushed past the other, stepping up in front of the Potions Master and staring him boldly in the face. "I know exactly where you're going, Severus. And why. We're going with you."

Severus bristled indignantly. Insolent little brat! He'd been spending entirely too much time around Potter. How dare he sound so presumptuous?

He narrowed his eyes in fury. "Remove yourselves from my sight this _instant_, and perhaps you will both avoid detention for the rest of your natural lives."

Draco's expression didn't so much as flicker. "Well, about that. Even if I _wanted _to take myself back to the school – which, I must admit, sounds tempting – I can't. My contract with Dumbledore won't let me."

The Potions Master blinked in surprise, as did Potter, both of them staring at the blonde.

Draco shrugged. "It didn't occur to me, either, until we got halfway down here and I realised that you're an Order member. I kind of _have _to help you."

The older man sneered. "Don't be ridiculous. The Headmaster certainly didn't mean anything so stupid as this. Return to the Slytherin common room right now –"

"I'm serious, I _can't_," the Slytherin protested. "If nothing else, I have to go with him." He indicated Potter, who stood defiant at his side. "And you might notice we're wasting time. If you intend to give _that _–" he pointed to the vial of potion Severus still held "– to Lupin before the moon rises, you want to hurry up."

The Potions Master tensed, knowing the boy was right. He looked down at the sample of Wolfsbane he'd hurriedly grabbed, and up at the sky, silently cursing to himself.

He started walking again, aware that the two were following him. "Go _back_, I said! As a Hogwarts Professor, I will not allow you to continue this stupidity. Besides, I hope you're not expecting me to willingly Apparate you into battle –"

"I can do that myself," Draco said easily, earning him another surprised look from Harry.

"You can Apparate?"

The Slytherin snorted. "Please. Do you really think Father would teach me all that Dark magic and neglect the basics?" There was a moment's silence, before Draco's voice resumed. "Anyway, as I was saying. We _are _going with you, Severus – both because I'm bound to help Order members if I'm capable, _and _I'm forced to indulge Potter's mindless heroics –"

"You don't have to say it like that..."

"Besides," the Slytherin went on, using his best persuasive tone and ignoring Potter's mutter. "Don't you think having a werew– wizard like me at your back will be good protection?"

Severus cast him an odd look, wondering why the boy had avoided the mention of werewolves. Swiftly, though, the minor observation left his mind to be replaced with more important matters. "Frankly, I couldn't think of anything less reassuring," the Potions Master drawled. "Now, for the last time, _go away_! Do you really think it's practical to lead Potter over there straight to a force of Death Eaters?"

"No, and that's exactly what I told him. Unfortunately, common sense is hardly a strong point with Gryffindors –"

"Draco!"

"My point being, he _has _managed to survive a number of similar situations, and I assure you he'll find other ways of getting down there on his own. Don't you think it's better to have _us _there as supervision?"

"I do not need your 'supervision'!" the Gryffindor protested indignantly.

The blonde glared at him, silently reminding his companion that he knew how to handle Severus.

The Potions Master felt it as he passed through the wards, which clung to him for a moment before releasing. Free of them, his magic felt much more potent, now liberated from some of the restrictions Hogwarts set on it.

The two boys came to stand nearby, looking as stubborn as ever. He narrowed his eyes at Potter, who annoyingly looked unaffected.

Draco stared at him evenly. "Severus, you're my godfather," he simpered. "You're family to me. Loyalty demands I go with you."

The man scoffed, glaring sceptically. He had never heard anything so insincere in his life. "You have no loyalty," he pointed out. It wasn't an insult, merely a statement of fact.

The blonde smirked wryly. "Just because I don't show it often doesn't mean it isn't there... So. Are you convinced yet?"

Severus regarded them with barely restrained anger, tempted to physically drag them back to the school himself. But once again, his gaze drifted to the sky, noting how low the sun now hung.

He sighed through gritted teeth. "Draco, there isn't _time _for this! By leaving me alone, you'd help me. That fulfils your promise to Dumbledore. Take that Cloak of Potter's and go back inside. If you manage not to get caught, I'll even let you off with a mere week's detention." From him, that was practically a gift. Casting a cursory glance over both of them, he found he couldn't spot the silvery folds of the material. "Where is it, anyway?"

"Uhm..." Potter murmured, blinking.

Before anything else could be said, Draco stepped up close to the Gryffindor, winding an arm around his waist and subtly sliding his hand beneath the back of Harry's shirt, so that his fingers grazed warm skin, just because he could. "Brace yourself," he instructed, breath ghosting over his partner's cheek. Then, louder, he added, "We'll be behind the Shrieking Shack."

They disappeared with a sharp crack.

Cursing to himself, Severus activated his own magic, concentrating on the image of a snow covered hilltop behind the Shack.

Too late, he felt something grip onto the back of his shirt in the split second before his Apparation. Unable to call back the spell, his magic encompassed the unknown presence as well as himself, dragging it with him as he disappeared.

xxx

His landing was much less graceful than usual thanks to the added weight. He staggered sideways, thankfully managing to steady himself against the wall of the Shack, before whirling around. Once again, he could see no one but Potter and Draco, who were staring at him with wide, nervous eyes. Immediately, he knew they'd had something to do with the unknown stowaway.

That Cloak. Someone else was using Potter's bloody Cloak!

Instinctively, he looked down, and saw two sets of footprints backing away from him, imprinted in the snow. With a snarl, he reached out blindly and grasped at the air, feeling his fingers triumphantly close over soft material. He yanked, and was rewarded by the sight of a terrified Granger and Weasley looking as if they feared he might murder them there and then. Indeed, Weasley even placed himself in front of the girl in a fit of ridiculous bravado.

"You...! You...!" He spluttered in wordless anger, unable to come up with a reprimand strong enough.

Granger covered her mouth in horror. "I can't believe we just did that! I _told _you he'd kill us!"

"Steady, Granger," Draco muttered, as he and Harry quickly stepped up next to the revealed pair. "No sudden movements."

She hoped he was joking.

"You... You _idiots_! Do you have any idea how dangerous that little stunt was?" He fought the urge to brandish his wand – remembering, just in time, that these were _children_, and ones he was supposed to protect. If they didn't end up killing him through sheer stupidity, of course. "You could have Splinched me or yourselves! Of all the _stupid _–"

"Malfoy thought of it!" Weasley blurted out, pointing accusingly at the blonde, who gave him a deadpan stare.

"Oh, nice..." the Slytherin hissed, narrowing his eyes.

The redhead shrugged sheepishly.

Severus took several deep breaths, his thoughts already spinning with at least a dozen creative punishments he would delight in employing. Unfortunately, he would have to wait. There was so little time left...

"That. Is. _It_," he growled. "Draco! You will take everyone here back to the school this instant! I hope you exhaust yourself doing it, too. You will return to your common rooms and await my return. Don't think the Headmaster won't be hearing about this!"

Harry edged closer to the witch in their midst, privately concerned by how pale she'd turned.

Severus turned away from them, moving quietly to the edge of the Shack and peering around its corner. Now that the blood had momentarily stopped rushing in his ears from anger, he could hear the sounds of battle below them. Peering down at the streets of Hogsmeade, he could see the little village's inhabitants doing their best to fend off the swarm of Death Eaters that were invading. As far as he could tell, the Order had yet to arrive, for whatever reasons, and the meagre defence of ordinary witches and wizards would hardly last much longer.

Squinting, he swept his eyes across the scene before him, but was evidently too far away to make out Lupin from this vantage point.

All of a sudden, he sensed his godson standing next to him, also examining the state of the village. "There's no one here to help them but us," he murmured gravely. "We're not incompetent, Severus. We can fight."

He sneered and glanced at the blonde. "Trying to manipulate me, Draco? I said, _go back_. I meant it. You will regret it severely if you go against me in this." He drew his wand and prepared to leave them, hesitating as he glanced at the boy. He would not show affection, not with the other teens present, but he struggled with the urge to convey some kind of message. "Draco... I _trust _that you will listen to me."

And then he turned and was hurrying down the hillside, careful not to slip in the snow and trying to approach unheard as he entered the fray.

Draco watched him go, expressionless. Harry came up next to him. "He wants you safe. Aren't you going to listen to him?" Draco didn't notice the serious look that had crept onto his mate's face.

Instead, he glanced languidly at the Gryffindor. "What can I say? He's right. I have no loyalty." Turning, he addressed the other two. "You two still up for this?"

Hermione stared at him, wide eyed. "D-did he mean that? About telling the Headmaster?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Merlin, Granger. As if Dumbledore hasn't let you off with bigger things. Anyway, he can't tell him. He's not supposed to be here on his own, never mind that he's accidentally responsible for _you _being here. He can't report _us _without getting himself in more trouble than he's already in..."

She looked marginally relieved, realising he was right. She just wished Draco had been confident enough in his own Apparating skills to transport more than Harry, so at least they might have avoided the offence of stealing a lift from the irate Potions Master...

Ron had walked over to where they stood, craning his neck to look down on the battlefield just in time to see the Potions Master cast a curse that took down one of the robed Death Eaters from behind. "Bloody hell. Never thought I'd be rooting for Snape..."

"Believe he's not with the other side yet, Weasley?"

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

Harry turned his eyes upwards to the sky, noticing the vivid orange it was becoming as the sun dipped ever lower towards the horizon, casting Hogsmeade in violent shades of red and gold.

"If we're going to do this, we have to be quick," he said suddenly, adopting the unconscious authority that only ever came to him in DA meetings and life or death situations. He hesitated, and then turned slowly to the Slytherin.

Draco saw in his expression what he was about to do just a split second too late to stop him.

"Stay _here_, Draco. That's... that's an order."

The Slytherin jerked as if slapped, staring at him. "No, don't –"

"_I_ mean it," he said, in an imitation of Severus. And with that, Harry turned away to peer out over the battle, wand in hand.

Hermione looked almost as shocked as Draco, staring at her friend with her mouth open. "Harry, surely..."

"What's going on?" Ron asked, as clueless as ever as he looked between one horrified friend, one stubborn one, and a thoroughly stunned Slytherin. "You don't expect him to actually _stay_, do you? Not just 'cause you said –"

"Ron, shush," Hermione hissed, elbowing him.

Draco shook his head in denial, even as he felt the compulsion settle itself over him. He felt it as if the wolf had sat itself down on its haunches to wait patiently for its mate's return, whereas _he_ wanted nothing more than to first hit Harry for the pure audacity, and then stick as close to him as humanly possible.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're doing?" he demanded, voice deadly quiet.

Harry made the mistake of glancing back at him, and found himself hesitating, caught by the sheer intensity radiating from the blonde. "I'm sorry, but I can't risk –"

"It's not your decision!" Draco fairly shrieked in outrage, clenching his fists. Still, Harry didn't waver.

Instead, he turned to the other Gryffindors, completely ignoring Draco's enraged protests and beginning to speak calmly, slipping seamlessly into the role of leader he so often shied from. "Okay, remember the DA lessons. They're going to aim to kill or cripple, not disarm. Just... don't get hit. If anyone sees Remus, cast _Relashio _into the air. The others will see the sparks."

Ron nodded to show he understood, but quickly resumed a confused expression and glanced at the Slytherin, jerking a thumb in his direction. "Uhm, mate? Something you wanna tell me? Like why Malfoy's bursting a blood vessel 'cause you told him he couldn't come...?"

Harry looked at him blankly. "No, not really. Ready?"

The pair stared back in perplexity, but again nodded. Turning, they started to follow Harry around the corner of their shelter.

"_Harry_!"

The agonised shout stopped the Gryffindor in his tracks, making Hermione walk into him. Once again, she and Ron stepped out of the way, and she fought the urge to pointedly look in the opposite direction, feeling very much as if she was witnessing something far too personal between the two boys.

For a moment, seeing how Harry froze at the sound of his plea, and watching how his shoulders tensed up guiltily, Draco thought he'd won. And when the Gryffindor turned around and started to walk back towards him, he was convinced he'd changed his mind and was about to apologise profusely, before insisting the werewolf remain at his side during what was to come, as was only right, of course.

He lifted his chin defiantly when the other boy stood before him, waiting with annoyance for the order to be retracted.

Instead, Harry shook his head sadly, and whispered barely audible, "I can't... I didn't want you to come this far. You have to stay safe..."

That said, he ducked his head and kissed the Slytherin. Desperate, Draco grasped at the other's clothes, _willing _him not to do what he was doing. His fingers dug into flesh, nails scratching, and he bit down hard before Harry could pull away. There was nothing of affection in the kiss, but he didn't think he'd ever conveyed utter need so clearly.

"...I _knew _it!" Ron's voice cut the moment. "I fucking _knew _it!"

Harry looked at him fleetingly, noting the disgusted but resigned expression, then shook himself. He backed away from the blonde, managing to ignore the twist in his gut after a kiss like that, and finally turned his back again.

"Move," he snapped at Ron and Hermione, beckoning as he strode ahead.

Startled into motion, they hurriedly followed, Hermione casting a single pitying glance over her shoulder.

Harry never looked back.

xxx

Pure, undiluted panic rose up in him as Harry left their hiding place and disappeared down the hill into into the chaos that raged below them. He wanted to yell after him, demand that he return, or at least reverse the command and let Draco go with him, but the look in green eyes told the werewolf that Harry was thoroughly convinced he was doing the right thing.

"Fuck! _Fuck_!" In desperation, he tried to take steps forward, following Harry's route, but immediately the wolf growled anxiously in his head, making him freeze. He imagined it caught in indecision, compelled to obey its mate, but sharing Draco's need to go protect him. The warring urges tore at him, almost a physical pain.

"Focus, Malfoy!" he growled to himself, voice tinged with the low tones of the wolf.

He found himself pacing like a caged animal, frantic but unable to spur himself to any real _action_. This was stupid! Every instinct in him insisted that he protect his mate – _so why the fuck couldn't he_? Harry's words still lingered in the air, as potent as any spell.

_"Stay __**here**__, Draco. That's... that's an order." _

Thoughtless bastard! Didn't he realise that such a compulsion equated to torment, as the wolf struggled to follow its two primary instincts – obey and defend – both of which now clashed horribly...

And after _he _was the one who'd gone against his better judgement to get Harry here!

Well, okay. He just needed a solution, was all. He needed to get rid of one of those instincts. And since meekly sitting back and waiting hopefully for Harry's return wasn't an option, it seemed the time had come for him to cease this trained pet act. He was, after all, Draco Malfoy, and Malfoys most certainly didn't need _permission_. Since when had he fallen into the habit of obeying _anyone_, least of all Harry bloody Potter?

This in mind, he steeled himself and made for the battle once again. He was going to _kill_ Potter, he thought to himself furiously as he stalked forward. Just as soon as –

Oh good God, it was like being on a leash! He was sure he nearly broke something as he was yanked backwards by the wolf's ever strengthening influence. Had it been further from the full moon, his surge of determination just _might _have been able to break the compulsion. But as it was, with the curse only a few minutes away from its monthly completion, he didn't stand a chance.

Snarling, he slammed his hand against the Shack's wall in frustration, and then raked his nails down it, never noticing that he actually left gouges in the wood.

This was fucked up! He had to – He couldn't just – Harry needed – _Fuck_!

His thoughts had never been so scattered before. The panic was getting worse the longer he was delayed here, which already seemed like hours, during which his mate was being attacked just out of his reach. Harry could be dead, or dying, even as he dithered about. Merlin knew Granger and Weasley were hardly an adequate defence, and Severus had his own concerns.

How could Potter be so bloody stupid as to leave him like this?

No. Concentrate. What was it Granger had said when she'd been explaining it to him, all that time ago...? The compulsions were the wolf's defence mechanism, because, apparently, it still thought he'd try to push Harry away if given half the chance.

Would he?

Well, wasn't _this _little experience answering that question? Here he was, desperately attempting to risk his life for the git, despite the fact that every self-preservation instinct in him was suggesting he go hide under something until the danger had passed. Draco Malfoy was a certified coward. It had been proven on numerous occasions.

So it must say _something_ of his intentions that he was now hurling himself against the restraints of Harry's order, just to go protect the ungrateful, moronic sod.

Okay. Okay. How to convince the wolf that he really, really did accept it? What the hell did it want from him...?

"I... I get it," he said out loud, hopefully, as if talking directly to the creature in him might work. "I do. He's my mate. I... I have no choice in that. _Are you fucking listening to me_?" The last part he shouted into the air, his voice drowned by the sound of flying curses and screams.

Feeling defeated, he moved to rest his forehead against the wall of the ramshackle structure he was concealed behind. It felt ludicrous. Nothing physical stopped him from skidding down the slope in pursuit of the others. There were no obstacles keeping him in place. Yet here he was, just as trapped as if he'd been truly caged.

"I _hate_ him," he hissed to himself, closing his eyes. "Bastard... I'm supposed to _be _there! I'm supposed to keep _him _safe – not the _other fucking way around_!" Again, he dug his nails into the wood, watching with disinterest as they lengthened into something resembling claws, gouging splinters from the wall, before retracting again.

He was growing quite used to the wolf features that showed through every so often. Where once they had unnerved him deeply, almost a violation to his person, now he suspected he'd feel lost without his preternatural hearing and other such canine characteristics.

Distantly, he wondered when he'd stopped thinking of it as a curse.

But this was pointless sidetracking. He edged towards the precipice of the hill, where he could look down over the village. His searching gaze sought for anyone recognisable. It didn't take long for him to spot the beacon of red hair that was Weasley, with Granger pinned to his side. But... Harry wasn't with them. He clenched a fist and kept scanning the crowd, growing more and more frantic, and still no sign of–

And then he saw him.

And what he saw almost made his heart stop beating then and there. He faltered, closing his eyes, as if the vision down below might fade if he looked away long enough.

It didn't.

Without thought, without conscious decision or any further ideas on _acceptance_, he began to run.

The next thing he knew, he was pelting gracelessly through the snow, plunging desperately after his mate.


	41. Demonstrations Of Loyalty

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL **(more like preslash in the case of the latter I'm beginning to realise.) **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 41**: Demonstrations Of Loyalty

xxx

Harry slipped and slid down the hill towards the high street of the small village, forcing himself not to glance back to where he knew Draco would be standing, staring after him with a look of betrayal. He was doing what he had to, he told himself. He couldn't let Draco come with him. He just couldn't. The werewolf would try and protect him, just as he had that time against Ron, and in a battle like this it would only get him hurt, or worse.

And, more than that, Draco was... He was...

No. He couldn't let himself think of that now.

His friends hurried to keep up on the slippery terrain, their wands out and eyes searching for any sign that they'd been noticed. From their higher vantage point, they could see Snape ducking behind any form of shelter he could reach in an attempt to avoid the attacks he was already attracting. Harry supposed he sometimes forgot how skilled a wizard the man was, but he was forcefully reminded of the fact now as he watched him fire off a spiel of various curses that made a larger dent in the number of Death Eaters present than many of the Hogsmeade inhabitants had managed in the last half an hour.

"Main priority is finding Remus," he instructed through panting breath. "Don't get involved in a dual if you can help it. Try not to be noticed at all, if you can help it."

As they finally reached flat ground, skidding to a halt behind one of the shop buildings, out of sight, Ron turned to him. The redhead reached out and grasped his arm, gesturing wildly back towards the Shack where they'd left the Slytherin. "Mate, what the hell...?"

"Not now," he muttered, trying to pull away. "You can yell at me for bad taste after we –"

"Not _that_," Ron interrupted, though he did wrinkle his nose and look slightly revolted. "No, I mean... Leaving him up there? What the hell did you _do _to the git, that he actually listened?"

Hermione bit her lip worriedly. "Ron –"

"And weren't you the one going on about what a bloody fantastic wizard Malfoy is? It didn't occur to you that he might be a bit _useful_, for once in his life...?"

Harry scowled. "Yes, Ron, it occurred to me. I just –" He cut himself off, realising there was no reasonable explanation he could give right now. "Never mind. Look, make sure the two of you stick together. Remember the dual back in the Room of Requirement? You're safer if you have a partner."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. "But – Wait! Harry! What about you?"

He started to back away from them. "I'll be faster on my own. _Trust me_, I'll be fine. Promise." And with that, he turned and darted into the battle, following Snape's footprints so he could use the same shelters. Belatedly, he realised they'd all forgotten to bring the Cloak down from the hilltop, where the enraged Potions Master had tossed it to the floor. He could have used it right now as he attempted to sneak unseen past a hoard of Death Eaters, his eyes wide and alert for any signs of Remus.

Harry was glad, now, that he had had Draco describe to him some of the Dark magic he knew and had heard of. Otherwise, he might have been shocked by the display of vicious curses and hexes that were being thrown every which way all around him. The Death Eaters were not limited to Unforgivables, the Slytherin had explained, and now Harry understood what he meant. They were much more creative.

Blinding curses. Flaying hexes. Fire. Pain. He closed his eyes and had to gather himself for a moment, taken aback. He'd been wrong. Practice with the DA, even with Draco present, had not prepared him.

He darted from one hiding place onto the next as soon as he was sure he wouldn't be seen, looking for his next destination. Ron and Hermione slunk from one shop building to the next across from him on the other side of the cobbled street, peering into the frosted windows when they could afford to in an attempt to spot the missing werewolf. He mirrored their movements as best he could, but it was difficult to search effectively while trying not to be seen.

Ahead of him, one of the masked figures was fending off the haphazard attacks of a civilian with ease. A few flicks of his wand sent the other man's spells spinning off in random directions – much in the same way Draco did to his opponents, Harry thought, before realising he really _had _to try and put the Slytherin out of his head. Then, as the Gryffindor looked on, the Death Eater calmly flicked his wand and sent his victim spinning through the air. Harry bit his lip and cringed as the wizard landed hard, his fall somewhat pillowed by the snow.

He'd already aimed his wand, expecting to hear the first syllables of the Killing Curse and ready to try and stop it, before he realised the Death Eater had lost interest and was already turning away. He backtracked hurriedly, ducking out of sight behind the corner of the nearest building.

What had happened there? Why hadn't the masked wizard cast Avadka Kadavra, instead of simply leaving his opponent where he was and allowing him the chance to recover...?

Automatically, he checked the position of the sun, and in doing so answered his own question.

In a flash of Hermione-like intuition, he knew why they're brought Remus here. They were going to set him on the villagers – not just to kill and do their job for them, but to turn as many as he could. Harry blanched. Voldemort wanted werewolves, and Remus was going to unwillingly create them for him. The Death Eaters weren't killing anyone because they were waiting for the moon to rise. After all, dead people couldn't be infected by a werewolf bite, now could they...?

Harry shivered, repulsed by the idea. Immediately, his urgency to find the wolf increased tenfold, and he looked around wildly. All around him, he now noticed that whatever curses were being thrown, however hazardous, however malicious, none of them were lethal.

He found himself turning one way and then another, losing any sense of a plan he might have started out with. His mind spun in circles. Where were the other Order members? Why hadn't they stopped this yet? Where had Snape disappeared to? Were Ron and Hermione still okay? He couldn't see them. Oh God, what about Draco? What if someone found him up there, alone and trapped by the compulsion that had been placed upon him...? What if–

Stop.

He realised suddenly that his panicked thoughts had carried him away entirely. He'd stepped forward, away from his hiding place, with some half-formed intent of desperately finding Remus there and then.

Now, returning to relative sanity, he hurriedly whirled back around, remembering the importance of staying out of sight.

Too late. Looming in black robes and haunting white mask, a Death Eater had stepped into place behind him, blocking his escape route. Harry stopped dead, stunned by how fast he'd made such a stupid mistake. Automatically, he raised his wand, but something stopped the spell on the tip of his tongue.

White blonde. Harry blinked, oddly uncomprehending for a moment, simply unable to relate the familiar shade with the danger he was looking at.

Finally, though, realisation dawned.

Lucius Malfoy was stood before him. Harry knew it was him, though the pale mask covered his face. He recognised the white blonde hair that escaped the concealment of his hood, and there was no mistaking the eyes that pinned him furiously, or the familiar, serpent-headed wand that was currently pointed his way.

Acting purely on instinct, Harry dropped to the ground, just in time to avoid the attack that sailed over his head. He scrambled backwards as a succession of spells sprayed up snow in his wake, Lucius stalking after him, his intentions obviously dangerous.

The voice that emerged from behind the mask was colder than the ice beneath his hands.

"Potter. So _this _is the bane of the Dark Lord, on his knees in the dirt." Casually, he flicked another curse from his wand, making Harry roll desperately to the side. "What, exactly," Lucius continued, "is it about you that could _possibly_ have convinced my son to side with _the Light_...? Do tell. I'm finding it hard to understand, myself."

Harry found himself struck silent. His thought process had simply ground to a halt as he stared up in horror at Draco's father, whose wand was now levelled at his head.

"I suggest you attempt an explanation, Potter, lest I grow tired and kill you now." He reached up and removed his hood and mask, turning the full force of a lethal glare on the Gryffindor. "You and your precious Headmaster have done some truly stupid things in your time, boy, but _this_...! Did you really think I'd let you tear my family apart without a word of protest?"

"I –"

"_Silencio_!" he barked out, evidently changing his mind about an explanation.

Harry froze, panic descending on him as the silencing spell took effect. He couldn't speak, and therefore couldn't use magic to defend himself.

Lucius sneered at him, maliciously satisfied at the fear he saw in green eyes. "Oh, I shall enjoy this. I dare say the Dark Lord will be disappointed that he won't get to do this himself, but I'm sure it's a forgivable offence, considering..." He smiled cruelly. "Do you think you can survive yet again, Mr Potter?"

Harry couldn't have given an answer even if he wanted to. He clutched his throat helplessly and glared back. Suddenly, he understood why Draco had insisted that everyone work with a partner back in the harmless DA sessions. Had someone else been with him, they could have at least ended the charm that prevented his voice from working...

Abruptly, an idea came to him. Something that didn't require an incantation.

Desperately, he began the Animagus transformation, willing it to speed up. Immediately, he felt magic lash around him, changing his form. He felt himself gain mass and height, the world changing perspective around him, his very senses altering all in a sudden rush.

Lucius reeled back in shock, not at all expecting to see the great looming dog appear before him, unnerved enough to lower his wand for a split second.

Using the only weapon still available to him, Harry lunged forward and found himself barrelling into the blonde wizard, his now greater weight landing Lucius on his back with an outraged cry. Sharp, powerful canine teeth closed around the man's wrist, clamped down hard and drawing blood. Fighting not to gag at the sensation of the warm liquid in his mouth, Harry steeled himself and bit again, desperate to make Lucius drop the wand.

The Dark wizard swore in pain and bucked beneath him, trying to escape. His knee connected with the Gryffindor's ribs, but Harry didn't let himself relent. One large paw pinned down his opponent's left arm, making it impossible for Lucius to transfer the wand to his other hand. Harry knew he wouldn't escape if the Death Eater regained control of the situation. This was his last ditch attempt at survival, and if it didn't work...

Yet even as he was thinking this, to his horror, he saw from the corner of his eye that Lucius was miraculously managing to twist the wand into position. Too late, he looked down to see grey eyes alight with pain and cold, furious satisfaction.

"_Crucio_!"

Harry let go against his will, his jaws opening in a yowl of agony. Lucius rolled out from beneath him just before he collapsed heavily, twitching in the snow as the curse tore through him, setting every nerve alight. He curled up on himself as if to hide, but it did nothing. Like the time he had endured this once before, he felt abruptly as if he would die simply from the pain.

"You half-blood little freak!" the blonde wizard was shrieking in anger, though his voice sounded a great distance away. His mutilated wrist was pressed protectively to his chest and wand held in his left hand, still pointed squarely at the writhing Animagus at his feet. Face contorted with rage, he maintained the curse for what felt like forever, pouring every bit of spite and malice into the torture.

Finally, he snapped his wand downwards, and Harry felt the world crash down around him as the torment suddenly ended, the harsh relief almost as terrible as the pain in those first few confused seconds. He found his canine muzzle half buried in the snow, inhaling the icy powder in deep, desperate gasps, sending shocks of cold through him with each breath.

Lucius moved to stand over him, face the picture of carefully controlled fury, his breath audible as it rasped from between gritted teeth. "I would dearly love to spend longer in your company, Mr Potter. It has been... invigorating, to say the least." He cast a glance along the high street. "But duty calls. Goodbye, Mr Potter." He raised his wand. "_Avadka Ka_–"

"_**No**_!"

Before either of them fully understood what was happening, there was another flash of blonde and spray of snow as Draco skidded into place between them, landing awkwardly on his knees so that Lucius's wand was pointed directly at his chest.

The older wizard almost choked in an effort to cut himself off, staring in wide eyed perplexity at the unexpected appearance of his son, thrown protectively between him and his target.

Harry struggled to sit up, growling and attempting to ignore the simultaneous scream of protest from each of his muscles. He was astonished to see the Slytherin all of a sudden, and even more so when Draco turned and shoved him unceremoniously back into the snow, kneeling over him defensively.

"_Move_," Lucius ground out, teeth bared in pure anger as the situation spun rapidly from his control.

Terrified by his own defiance, Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head, battling down the instinct that urged him to jump to his father's command. Instead, he pressed himself further back against the damp, matted fur of his mate, which rose and fell with frightened breathing.

"Draco. Remove yourself _this instant_." His tone was that of the master who fully expected to be obeyed.

And yet, once again, Draco shook his head. "...No." Behind his back, his fingers clenched convulsively in Harry's fur, demanding strength of both himself and the Gryffindor.

Lucius visibly hesitated, obviously unused to the disobedience. Draco imagined the rather clueless expression he wore was the same as when Narcissa had found herself facing his wand after her defiance. He didn't know what to do – sense of duty clashing with family loyalty. Draco, who had just experienced a similar inner-conflict, felt a twinge of sympathy.

Still, there was nothing in the world that would make this any easier. Lucius had chosen his side and Draco had chosen his, and the proverbial line between them had never been so deeply etched.

"Just move," his father said again, and later would never admit that his voice might have held the slightest note of pleading.

Draco knew, then, that whatever he did next, Lucius would not stop him. He couldn't bring himself to curse his son, just as he hadn't been able to curse his wife, even when ordered to.

This in mind, Draco steeled himself and met his father's cold eyes. "...Sorry," he offered uselessly, and then called up his magic, jumping into Apparation and dragging Harry's dead weight with him.

Left alone too fast to protest, Lucius stared at the disturbed snow all around him, spoilt by paw prints and skid marks and stained with his own blood. Draco was nowhere to be seen, and if he'd ever taught his son anything, he would not allow himself or Potter to be spotted again tonight.

Slowly, he turned and began to walk away – spitefully jinxing anything that got in his way, friend or foe.

xxx

As soon as he'd left the group of teenagers, Severus had allowed his instincts to take over, sliding into the mindset of the veteran he was.

In the orange light of dusk, Hogsmeade looked aflame. He was forced to squint as the churned snow blazed with reflected colour, the picturesque view at odds with the violence surrounding him.

Hurriedly, he headed for the centre of the village, sure that they would try and release Lupin at the most crowded area. On his way, he kept his eye out for other members of the Order, sure they would be arriving soon. The civilians were able to hold their own, but they wouldn't last much longer without sufficient help, he guessed.

He'd already attempted to advise those he passed to flee towards the castle, but many of the witches and wizards were fiercely defensive of their village, determined to stay and see it to safety themselves. Severus had been exasperated by the foolish loyalty, but quickly realised he didn't have the time to spare arguing with them. It could be left to Minerva and the others to drag them away kicking and screaming if they had to – _he _had his own priorities.

Cursing two Death Eaters who blocked his path out of the way, the Potions Master moved forward with confidence, feeling almost satisfied that he was in a position to fight back against those who, not so long ago, had chased him from the Dark Lord's inner circle with malicious laughter ringing in his ears.

Now, it was with icy efficiency that he picked them off one by one, moving unseen between the quaint little shops that lined the street, eyes moving over every small detail. Like Harry, he'd noticed the lack of lethal spells being used by the Death Eaters, and guessed the reason for the tactic, so it was only occasionally he risked drawing attention to himself by intervening to protect some of the more defenceless civilians.

It was as he was coming towards the end of the highstreet, where the shops gave way to houses, that it happened.

He froze when he saw commotion beginning in the middle of the street, as a series of loud cracks split the air signalling yet more Apparation. He watched, riveted, as a fresh collection of Death Eaters materialised in a group, and between them was suspended a sizeable metal cage, held aloft by their wands.

In it was Lupin.

Severus, his thoughts turned cold and sharp and clear, not yet allowing for emotional observations, guessed immediately that the metal bars were probably infused with confining charms, otherwise Lupin would already have Apparated away, or found some alternative way to escape the cage.

As it was, the werewolf looked beyond the ability to help himself any longer. Even from his distance, Severus could see that wide golden eyes, already the colour of the wolf, were far too bright and wild, terrorised by what was happening and what was no doubt about to happen. He stared out unseeingly at those who surrounded him. Pale hands gripped the bars, but the grip was slack, all fight gone from him. His clothes hung from him where he'd lost weight rapidly in this last week. Severus felt something twinge as he guessed the man had been starved in preparation for tonight, in the hope of spurring on the wolf he would become.

Without thought, he raised his wand and cast. The spell flew with pinpoint accuracy, hitting one of the Death Eaters square in the back. The masked wizard screamed as his robes ignited instantly, and promptly stumbled sideways into the others. Chaos spread as the group attempted to extinguish the catching flames and looked around for their attacker. As each one lost their concentration on their levitating spells, the cage suddenly landed with a crash. Severus winced for the rather fragile looking werewolf it contained, but his sympathy was short-lived as the multiple Death Eaters turned on him and he was forced to throw up hasty defences against the bombardment of curses that came his way.

"Lupin!" he shouted when he could, over the sound of yells and destructive magic. He had to get the other man to snap out of the daze he seemed to have entered. "Lupin, for Merlin's –! _Sectumsempra_!" His trademark curse cut down two of the masked wizards, used much more effectively than Draco's clueless attempt.

He thought he saw the werewolf blink a few times and glance around, but couldn't be sure as one of his opponents chose that moment to get a spell past his shields. Only just, he avoided the brunt of it, but it still clipped his right leg, which buckled beneath him.

One of the Death Eaters, having been waiting for the opening in his defences, was almost upon him before he could think of a suitable curse to respond with. So instead, he fell back on instinct.

"_Legilimency_!"

Instantly, he was catapulted into yet another alien mind, one which resonated shock and fright at his intrusion. He didn't hesitate, even while registering his own distaste, in forcing his way deeper.

Lupin might not know or appreciate it, but Severus had generally been as gentle as he could be during their sessions – with the exception of his one loss of control. Now, he abandoned any thought of taking that same care, and tore along the threads of thought viciously, ripping at them, and not relenting until he heard the distant scream of pain.

He pulled back swiftly in time to see his victim drop to the ground, apparently unconscious, and only a split second passed since initiating the spell. The remaining Death Eaters hesitated, and he took advantage of their stunned inaction to lash out a Blasting Curse in their direction, using the distraction to dart from his crouched position in the snow and move as fast as he could with a limp towards the caged werewolf.

When Lupin finally noticed him, it didn't seem as if he recognised him for a moment. Golden eyes flickered unsurely, not showing anything of hope or excitement or... _any _reaction, really.

Severus grit his teeth, tried not to think of the implications of such despondency, and dug in his pocket for the potion vial he'd risked everything to bring here.

Another curse sped past his ear, missing him by millimetres. He spun around to see more black robed figures replacing the ones he'd already put down. He wondered exactly how many Death Eaters were present tonight, as they seemed never ending – but perhaps that was just his imagination. He supposed they'd have needed so much manpower to control the citizens _and _the werewolf they planned to set loose.

He made another move closer to the cage, but immediately several spells were flung at him, and he had to freeze and gather layered defence spells. There was no way they were going to let him near the wolf. They'd overwhelm him if he split his concentration trying to save Lupin. And they knew it.

So he did the only thing he could think of, under the circumstances.

He turned and threw the potion with as much accuracy as he could manage, watching only to see it landed safely a mere few inches outside the bars. Then, with the frantic hope that Lupin was still sane enough to recognise it and realise its importance, he looked away just in time to be met with the melee of curses coming his way.

xxx

Where the Slytherin had taken them, Harry didn't know. All he was aware of was that it was still outside, still within earshot of the battle, but sheltered enough that they were alone for the moment, without the threat of being attacked or caught in a crossfire. He closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the escape, before he was startled into full wakefulness.

Draco's long fingers buried in the dark fur along the Gryffindor's side and chest, shaking him roughly. "Harry, change back. Come on, change back." His voice shook with urgency.

Obediently, Harry let magic drift around him, the transformation not as hurried this time. Draco's hands ended up clutching his shirt, tugging at the material until he relented and rolled over, groaning.

"Can you sit up?"

He nodded and tried to answer, too late remembering the silence that afflicted him. Gesturing helplessly to his throat, he stared at the other boy pleadingly.

Understanding, Draco swiped his wand impatiently and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem_."

Harry coughed experimentally, testing his newly released voice. "It's not that bad," he protested weakly, when he could. "I'm just... sore." Hah. Understatement. For a moment, he had to rely on the blonde's strength to get him upright, and then swayed when he found himself standing.

Draco stepped back hesitantly, watching to see if the Gryffindor would fall without his support. He didn't, and the werewolf let out a sigh of relief as he was finally satisfied that Harry was indeed unharmed, at least for the most part.

No sooner had that occurred to him, the full force of his outraged indignity hit him, like a delayed afterthought. "You stupid git!"

Harry's head snapped up in surprise at the exclamation, just in time to be met with a sharp blow to the mouth as Draco followed through on his private vow to knock some sense into his mate.

Caught off balance, Harry stumbled and returned to the ground, landing inelegantly in the snow on his backside and staring up with wide, shocked eyes at the blonde, his hand pressed to his bleeding lip.

Draco fumed, eyes already flashing arctic blue. "If you _ever _try something like that again, I swear to Merlin, Potter, it will be the _last _thing you do. I – _God_, you have no idea how much I want to hex you right now!"

Harry glared balefully and spat blood. "I'm getting an idea..." he muttered, clambering awkwardly to his feet once again. "How did you break the compulsion, anyway?"

The Slytherin sneered viciously. "None of your damn business," he snarled, and turned away.

Well, really, what else _could _he have said? Now was hardly the time or place to admit that the mere sight of Lucius bearing down on his mate had spurred him to such heights of fear that any hold the wolf had possessed over him had simply... snapped? He could recall, almost to the second, the feeling of it breaking inside him, as a rush of adrenaline to his heart had almost stopped it.

And in that moment, he supposed, he and the wolf had been truly united for the first time, because the situation had erased all possibility of mediation. Before, he had still been trying to hold himself back, so that, at the very least, he wouldn't be as badly hurt if and when Harry freaked out, which he suspected was inevitable. What had he called it before...? A 'half-experience', attempting to be with his mate without getting too emotionally attached.

Well, Draco had never been too good at doing anything by halves. It had just taken him a little while to remember that, was all.

He was still perfectly aware that the Gryffindor reserved the right to run a mile when eventually confronted with what Draco had to tell him, but that no longer mattered, as the lightning bolt of terror seemed to have just proved. He supposed he could accept the fact that he was irrevocably linked to the boy, even if the sentiment wasn't mutual.

And _that _was what the wolf had wanted from him, he realised.

"...Draco?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, he glanced towards the Gryffindor, who was watching him solemnly.

"It... it won't work anymore if I order you to do something, will it?"

The Slytherin paused to think about it, silently asking the question of the wolf inside him.

It took him a moment to realise he could no longer pinpoint the separate entity of the curse. He cast around for it in confusion, searching for the shadowy spot at the back of his mind from which came all the animalistic urges that had plagued him since being bitten. But sure enough, it was no longer there.

He wasn't fool enough to think he'd been cured, by any means. But the alteration perplexed him. What...?

And then, in a flash, he understood.

Oh yes. It made sense now in a way all the books had failed to put into words. The wolf could no longer control him with compulsions because it was no longer an individual mind, working against his own.

Now, it was truly part of him. Diffused into his own mind and motives, adding yet another layer of Darkness to his person – as if he hadn't been questionable enough, he thought wryly.

So this was the consequence of true acceptance.

It could be worse, he mused idly, after a while. He wondered if Lupin had ever experienced this... this merging. The man had never admitted to it, if he had. Gryffindor that he was, he probably found the acceptance more shameful than the original curse

Remembering the question, Draco shook his head. "No, it won't work anymore." His eyes narrowed. "Why? Disappointed?"

Strangely, Harry smiled. "No. And... I'm sorry about... y'know. Compelling you."

"You bloody well should be," the blonde shot back promptly, unforgiving. "I think I gave myself whiplash, for God's sake, trying to come after you! And you're damn lucky I didn't give up right then. One second more –"

Harry stepped forward and hugged him forcefully, effectively ending the tirade as Draco froze, blinking in surprise over the Gryffindor's shoulder.

"This is hardly the time or place..." he began uncomfortably after a few seconds.

The other boy released him, without even the decency to look abashed.

Draco glared, then rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're quite finished, maybe we can do this properly now."

"...You're still willing to help?"

The blonde let out a long suffering sigh. "Don't think I haven't considered knocking you out cold and dragging you back to the school, Potter." He looked pointedly at the sky. "But I don't have enough time left."

Harry followed his gaze, eyes widening as he realised for the first time exactly how dark it had grown, the first few stars pinpricking the shadowed horizon.

Draco had already turned away, and was pointing his wand towards the sound of the fray. "_Accio _Invisibility Cloak!"

Harry stared at him, wondering dumbly why he hadn't thought to do that after realising he'd forgotten it. It didn't take long for the required object to come sailing through the air into the Slytherin's outstretched hand. Harry might not have noticed it except for the slight distortion of the air it caused.

Draco tossed it at him, with a look that plainly accused, _Idiot_. Then, he held out his wand as well. "Here. Mind this for me."

Harry took it and slipped the length of ebony into a pocket, oddly hesitant. He had the urge to say something, but couldn't for the life of him decide what, and so only ended up biting his lip mutely, standing back as the transformation began.

xxx

"_Confringo_!"

Severus's spell collided with his nearest opponent, sending him catapulting backwards into two others with a loud bang, and the three went down in a disorganised pile. He waited a moment, watching to see if they stirred.

But for the moment, it seemed he was safe.

Whirling around, he made towards the abandoned cage – remembering his hesitancy only halfway there. He faltered, eyes scanning for the potion he had thrown in his urgency. It was nowhere to be seen, and he wondered frantically if it had been kicked aside, or spilled, or something else disastrous, before the werewolf could reach it.

He could see no glimpse of it, however. It seemed he was too late, anyway. Even as he looked on, the last glow of sunlight faded away from the horizon, sinking the village into an almost false calm. The moment seemed to pause as the last blush of sunset finally gave way to the sweep of silver light from the moon.

The Potions Master froze, feeling the ingrained fear beginning to rise in him, and having to battle the urge to turn and run.

"S-Severus!"

Lupin's voice shocked him. He snapped out of his apprehensive daze to see the werewolf huddled in one corner of his cage, trembling as the change took him. He edged closer, wand out and ready.

"...Did you take it?" His voice sounded far too faint for his liking. "Lupin. _Did you take the Wolfsbane_?"

He got no answer from the man other than a grunt of pain that turned into something reminiscent of a bark. Yet again, he found himself watching the painful transformation he'd once witnessed come over Draco, no less unnerved a second time round. It shook him as a dozen or more Death Eaters couldn't; frightening on some primal level.

As the moon emerged fully from behind its cover of cloud, the low howl of the wolf cut through Hogsmeade.

Severus continued to stare, wide eyed, waiting for some sign as to whether or not the creature before him had retained its humanity. It seemed exhausted, lying curled up at the bottom of the enchanted cage with its eyes cringed shut.

Daringly, he stepped closer.

One golden eye opened just enough to peer listlessly at him, and there was no sign of either wildness or recognition in the glowing iris.

"...Lupin?"

Painfully slow, the wolf levered itself into a sitting position. It didn't snarl at him, or fight its confinements uselessly, or act in any irrational manner he suspected a vicious animal might.

Steeling himself, he crossed the final distance between them, stopping just short of the metal bars. And yes, there it was. The empty vial lying on the floor of the cage, drained of potion.

He felt a rush of relief, and allowed himself to release the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Still, it would be... irresponsible to open the cage without testing.

Not believing what he was doing, he watched his hand as if it belonged to someone else, reaching past the bars, held out in offering, ready to be snatched back if the creature moved too suddenly or threateningly.

Golden eyes fixed on him, blinking languidly, the wolf leaned forward and flicked a pink tongue over his fingertips.

Severus could not help but roll his eyes and sigh in exasperation, finally reassured. "That wasn't permission for you to take liberties with me, Lupin," he complained in annoyance, even as he stepped back and brandished his wand at the cage, snapping out a spell that made the cage door burst open with a clang.

The tawny coloured wolf inside rose awkwardly to its full height; the size surprising the Potions Master. He'd almost forgotten, in the long years since he'd last faced this creature, its sheer mass and power. Even now, knowing it was tame, he still felt the old shadow of horror passing over him.

And yet. This was Lupin. Logically, he _knew _it was Lupin, the same mild-mannered pest with his stupid Gryffindor morals and irrational little crush. What was there to be afraid of...?

He watched as the wolf limped towards him on three paws, another injury he'd evidently taken during his captivity. Expressionless, Severus flicked off a healing spell. It wouldn't be perfect, especially with the werewolf's trait of repelling magic, but it would have to do.

He beckoned impatiently, pausing only a moment before forcing himself to lay his hand on the wolf's shoulder blade, fingers buried in the coarse fur in preparation for Apparating.

Without warning, just as he closed his eyes to concentrate, Lupin let out a deafening bark and surged forward, away from the Potions Master.

Severus's eyes flew open in surprise, astonished to see the creature bounding towards the large mass of people that filled the highstreet. His first panicked thought was that he'd somehow been deceived and had just loosed an enraged werewolf on defenceless villagers and Death Eaters alike.

But no, Lupin darted past the first people he encountered without a second glance, obviously aiming for something specific.

Severus looked past him and quickly set eyes on the problem that had spurred the wolf to action.

"Salazar..." he whispered in disbelief and quiet fury – and then he was off in pursuit.

xxx

"Ever feel like we're not really needed...?" Ron grumbled sullenly, looking unimpressed.

Hermione nodded in vague agreement. She knew it was stupid, but she, like Ron, had grown accustomed to their presence being somewhat necessary in this type of situation. That Harry had run off on his own without even the smallest pretence of needing or wanting their help was a slight turn up for the books. She suspected they wouldn't be here at all if they hadn't caught him and Draco in the halls – and even now their role seemed to have been reduced to moral support.

It was... disconcerting, to say the least.

"Just keep looking," was all she said, however. "Remus has to be around here somewhere. Harry said he dreamed about him in a cage..."

"Harry's dreams have been wrong before," the redhead responded doubtfully. "You don't think he'd fall for the same thing twice, do you...?"

"Well, Snape obviously believes he's right," she reasoned.

Leaning back against the shop they were taking refuge behind, Ron shrugged. "You realise they could already be too late, even if they find him? Look. It's already dark, and –"

Adding uncomfortable weight to Ron's words, a howl resounded around them. Falling silent, they cast wide eyed glances at each other, standing motionless for at least a minute.

"Think they made it...?" he asked eventually.

She bit her lip for a moment, then turned and headed for the street.

"What are you doing?" he demanded incredulously, following her reluctantly. He was quite happy to rest a little while longer in the relative safety of their hiding place.

"I have to see what's happening," she explained, glancing over her shoulder at him.

"But –"

She'd peered cautiously into the street, as always her curiosity ruling her, only to let out a shocked scream. He ran forward in alarm, appearing at her side in time to see exactly what had caused the reaction.

Remus Lupin barrelling towards them, great paws throwing up snow, teeth and eyes flashing.

Ron screamed and stumbled backwards, grabbing Hermione's arm to pull her with him. She lost her balance and tumbled into him, sending them both to the ground. Still pulling her with him, he continued to scramble in the opposite direction, head filled with thoughts of third year, the incident in which Sirius had bitten him, and how much worse it would hurt with a werewolf.

Something white seemed to appear from nowhere, streaking out in front of them and issuing a snarl. Ron's chest hurt with panic as he recognised it as _another _of the creatures, and he pulled out his wand with trembling hands.

Another burst of movement caught his attention, and he turned to see Harry whipping off the Invisibility Cloak as he rushed to join them. At the same time, Hermione grabbed his wrist, forcing his wand away from the white wolf.

"What are you doing–?"

"Ron, no!"

He received no more chance to object, as Lupin skidded towards them, and the paler wolf snapped at him until he backed up slightly. Still, it would be no match if the creatures fought; Lupin had height, weight and strength on the silvery wolf that stood between him and them.

And then, seemingly from nowhere, Snape appeared, reaching out and grasping the larger werewolf's dark fur and hauling him backwards as if he were nothing more than a disobedient dog. Later, Ron would marvel at the absurdity of the scenario, but for the moment he was too astonished to fully process the sight of the Potions Master throwing hesitancy to the wind and managing to drag a creature almost matching his height away from them.

"Lupin! For Merlin's sake, you're frightening the hell out of everyone!"

To their amazement, the massive wolf flattened its ears and sunk back against the Potions Master tamely, looking oddly... sheepish.

Similarly, the white creature that had appeared in their defence slowly rose from its crouched, protective stance. Though still as tense as ever, it now eyed the other werewolf with wary consideration.

Harry moved with equal caution, stretching to touch the smaller wolf's side. "Draco..." Blue eyes flashed his way, tension easing somewhat.

Ron blanched. "_Malfoy_?"

The witch was looking up at the Potions Master – completely unsurprised by the revelation, the redhead would note later. "You got him Wolfsbane then?"

Snape glared at her with more outrage than ever before. "I _**specifically**__ told you all to go __**back **__to the __**school**_!" She flinched, and he turned on Harry. "You, Potter, are _unforgivably _stupid! I don't _believe _you'd– Oh, shut _up_, Draco!"

The wolf, who had been emitting a low growl, fell sharply quiet.

Severus took deep breaths, mentally scripting the rant he would inflict on the teenagers and Lupin at a more appropriate time, then looked around them. Yes, members of the Order were present in the crowd now, and it was only a matter of time before they were noticed – which, for all involved, would be better avoided.

The problem was, he couldn't simply Apparate them all out. There were too many for him to carry, and with Draco and Lupin in their current state, he was the only one capable of–

"...Professor?"

"_What_, Granger?"

She gestured towards the shop they were positioned next to. "Th-there's a passage... in the cellar of Honeydukes... It goes straight back to the school..."

Next to her, Potter was nodding earnestly. "We wouldn't be seen."

Severus resisted the urge to snarl at them. But damn it all, he couldn't think of a better idea, and could only grudgingly relent.

He watched as the three teenagers disappeared beneath Potter's infernal Cloak, and then stood back as their footprints led the way towards the entrance of the deserted sweet shop. Draco stayed close to them, tense and protective to the last.

The wolf at his side suddenly nudged him, and only then did he realise he seemed to have froze, his fingers still clenched in Lupin's fur.

Embarrassed, he let go quickly.

Golden eyes stared at him, unnervingly intense, before the creature began to limp after the others. Severus sighed, shoving down the irrationally powerful feeling of relief, and made sure to close the door behind them.


	42. The Secret's In The Telling

**Title: **The Secret's In The Telling

**Authoress**: Sakuri

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: Draco Malfoy, pureblood and Slytherin prince, suffers the unthinkable when he is attacked and bitten by Remus Lupin. How is he supposed to live any kind of life afterwards, especially when Potter continues to stick his unwanted nose into things? HPDM, SSRL **(more like preslash in the case of the latter I'm beginning to realise.) **

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing and no one

**Chapter 42**: The Secret's In The Telling

xxx

Remus had never really minded the hospital wing at Hogwarts back when he was a student. He'd found the pastel blues and quiet atmosphere very calming, and still did, for that matter. He sighed softly from his perch at the end of one of the beds and sipped at his tea, waiting only for Poppy to give him the final all-clear so he could go and return to his own little cottage.

The full moon had ended last night. He'd been confined to the side-ward that Draco had occupied during his first transformation. Poppy and Albus had explained they were just being careful, monitoring to see that nothing unusual was the result of his week-long captivity. They suspected that Death Eaters had left some curse on him, perhaps, that would only manifest later.

But he was fine, as far as the mediwitch had been able to determine.

Sighing again, he set down his cup and saucer and stood with a slight wince, a shock of pain going through him as he rested his weight on his left leg. Poppy had fixed the injury, but warned him that it might twinge for a few days to come. He kept forgetting.

Restless, he moved to the window to look out over the grounds. He wanted fresh air, and the cold, white quiet of winter he saw below him. Too much of his life, in the recent past, had been noise and darkness and enclosed isolation...

The sound of the door opening startled him from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Poppy, and instead laying eyes on a certain bedraggled, bespectacled teen.

"Harry...?"

He hadn't seen the boy since that night, and couldn't stop the surprise in his voice. He'd expected Harry to avoid him for a little longer than this.

His visitor shuffled further into the room, looking intensely uncomfortable. Taking pity, Remus turned back to the view of the window, though his ears pricked for any and all small sounds the boy made, listening as he sighed and finally drew closer, closing the door behind him.

"I'm glad you're okay," came the blunt statement, toneless.

The werewolf smiled to himself briefly. "Thank you, Harry," he responded lightly. "I must say, I am too." Idly, he watched two Hufflepuff students throwing snowballs at each other down below.

The boy let out a slow breath, still tense. "You're not going again." It wasn't a question.

"No." Remus clasped his hands behind his back. "No, it would seem our plan has come to a rather disastrous end."

"...Good."

He turned to glance at the teen, raising an eyebrow. "Harry. Don't be like that."

He was met with an uncooperative shrug. "What do you want me to say? Didn't want you to do it, and I was right not to. Look at what happened. I'm glad you got found out." He looked defiant for a moment, before seeming to realise how he'd phrased that. "I mean... Not _how _you got found –"

"I know what you mean." Sighing, Remus turned back to the window, and they were quiet for a few moments longer.

"Not that I don't... appreciate the sentiment," he said at length, after a while, "but I should tell you I'm _very _disappointed that you'd do something as dangerous as the other night..."

Harry snorted, and seemed unable to help himself muttering, "Says _you_..."

The werewolf turned in a sudden surge of anger. "_I _have always known the risks of what I was doing! And the loss certainly wouldn't be as terrible if _I _was harmed, compared to –"

"Remus! That's not –"

"And _I _did not drag others into danger with me!"

They were silent, both slightly shocked by the accusation. Remus blinked, wondering what had happened to his resolve of patience.

"I..." Harry shook his head. "I didn't want any of them to come with me. I tried to stop them. I would have found a way on my own, if I could..."

"That's hardly the point..."

"No, you're right. I shouldn't have let them come. Shouldn't have let Draco convince me..."

Remus sighed, recognising the outlet of guilt that had probably been bothering the boy since the night of the attack. He softened his voice, regretting his sharp reprimand. "I imagine Draco put up quite a fight against you doing something so foolish," he commented mildly.

"You have _no _idea..."

"Well surely you must have known that no werewolf in his right mind would stay back while his mate walked blithely into battle..."

Green eyes fixed on him suddenly, pinned wide with shock. "...You _know_?"

Remus permitted a smile to pass across his face. "I'm aware, yes. It's quite easy to spot, really, when you know the signs..."

"Oh..."

"I'm glad you finally realised it yourself," the werewolf added in amusement.

That earned him a rather sullen look. "You could have told me, y'know... I had to read it in black and white before it even occurred to me..."

Remus chuckled, unsurprised. Smiling, he returned to the window, allowing the boy a few seconds to gather himself. Moments went by in silence as Harry shuffled awkwardly, before bursting into stammering, nervous speech.

"Do you think... I mean... Sirius... Do you think he...?"

Remus turned in surprise at the mention of his own mate. He wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that he was no longer overcome with grief, even at the unexpected reminder.

He could guess what Harry was trying to ask, even if the boy couldn't quite put it into words. He gave a half-smile. "You know how Sirius was, Harry. It would have taken him... a while to come to terms with certain things. Mostly the fact that it's a _Malfoy_ we're discussing. But you're forgetting that he was in much the same position as you now are. He would have understood."

Harry nodded. "And... what about you?"

The werewolf could have laughed, but suspected that might have been misinterpreted. Instead, he reached out and clasped the other's shoulder. "Harry, I know better than anyone what you're dealing with, what it means."

"...You don't mind?"

"Why would I?" he asked incredulously. Then, unable to resist the temptation, he added, "Besides. I'm coming to believe that we Gryffindors have a... _weakness_, of sorts, for Slytherins."

xxx

After Harry left him, the werewolf had sat restlessly, his own words playing on his mind. Did he really have a weakness for Severus? He thought he could answer that with a very definite yes, now. He always had, hadn't he? Even all that time ago in school...

But never before had the... the _possibility _seemed so close.

Yet even as he dared think that, he knew better. The small opening of opportunity was already closing, now that the Legilimency lessons had ended. They would go back to the way they had always been. Severus would forget his existence, and he... he would just have to learn to forget Severus...

That said, the insistent inner voice of determination – or perhaps that was desperation, he corrected himself wryly – would not allow him to simply give up. Not yet. Not until he had made one last stab at idiotic Gryffindor bravery, as the Potions Master himself called it...

xxx

Limping slightly from the walk down to the dungeons, Remus came to a stop in front of the bolted and spell-locked door he had hesitated in front of so many times before. This time though, he supposed, it was different. After all, he had no valid reason to be here. No excuse of Legilimency sessions to fall back on.

Severus no longer had any pressing reason to talk to him. He could finally withdraw and close himself off again, as he'd longed to do all this time.

Biting his lip, Remus knocked.

As the seconds crawled by and he waited with increasing anxiety, he reconsidered. Severus probably wasn't even in. He certainly wasn't answering the door. Maybe Remus would just leave it for now. They'd see each other at dinner. Surrounded by other Professors. Probably seats apart–

The door abruptly opened, making the werewolf start in surprise, blinking wordlessly.

The Potions Master peered out from his rooms, one dark eyebrow arched carefully in that way which never failed to make Remus feel he was doing something unforgivably stupid. He flushed and found that all pre-prepared speeches had gone from his head.

"Is there something you wanted, Lupin...?" Severus drawled at last, when he'd allowed the silence to stretch until breaking point.

"Well..."

"Surely you don't expect us to continue this ridiculous charade? Even _you _can't be suicidal to that degree..."

"No, of course not –"

"In which case, I remind you that you no longer have any obligation to call on me."

The werewolf stared, absently wondering if it was his imagination or had Severus spoken rather in a rush. It was the nearest he'd ever come to showing discomfort, Remus thought to himself, and with that perspective, felt some small shred of confidence return to him.

He held up the bottle of whiskey he'd brought with him, on a whim.

Severus regarded it blankly for a moment, before a slow, wry smirk curled the corner of his mouth, seemingly against his will. "Liquid courage, Lupin?"

"I thought it appropriate," Remus admitted, shrugging. "...And perhaps necessary."

The Potions Master rolled his eyes. "You still don't have an –"

"I'm aware I have no obligation, Severus. That's rather the point." Remus felt greatly daring, saying that. He half expected the other man to take offence, of some kind. It would be like Severus...

Dark eyes regarded him seriously, obviously catching and understanding the implication of the words. Remus could see the weight of the decision being made behind their surface, and held his breath.

He was not a brave man, he'd come to realise. This was proof of the fact, if anything was. Hadn't he faced far worse, just in the past few days alone? Yet he didn't think he'd ever felt so on edge and exposed. It was like waiting for–

Abruptly, Severus stepped back and held open the door for him, wordless and expectant.

If anything, the fear only increased, Remus thought. But he supposed he would have to get used to it.

Pursuing Severus was hardly a task for the faint of heart, after all.

xxx

Draco Malfoy stared into the lake, watched as something from below rippled its surface, and tried to think about nothing.

Well. Not quite 'nothing' exactly, but there were a few looming issues he was keen to avoid. Unfortunately, they seemed to be the only things his mind would focus on right now.

He lifted his face to stare at the bleak sky overhead, reflected in the partially frozen expanse of water before him, and inhaled deeply. It had never occurred to him before that winter had a scent, but indeed it did. Everything smelled... crisp. And cold. Dormant.

The general atmosphere of the grounds was similar. In a strange way, he found it comforting, this frigid calm. Better by far than the danger and excitement of that night; the one that had replayed in his head every time he closed his eyes since. How close he'd come to losing his whole pack... To losing his mate.

And _there_ was a phrase he could say freely, now. One good thing to come of the miserable adventure, he supposed. Harry was his mate. It was fact.

What's more, he had finally determined to tell him.

The epiphany that had struck him back in Hogsmeade hadn't been temporary. He understood, now, what he had to do to accept the situation, as the books advised. Before, he'd still been frantically trying to protect himself against Harry in the only way he knew how: secrecy. If his mate didn't _know _he was his mate, there could be no rejection, and no full, thorough connection, either. Draco could go on pretending that he still had choice in the matter, limited as it was. Even if he admitted it to himself, he didn't have to admit it to _Harry_, and that made all the difference.

But now...

Now he got it. Telling Harry left him open and vulnerable and it would probably end in pain for at least one of them – but it was entirely necessary.

Yes, the wolf in him might have made him vicious, and temperamental, and more powerful than he'd ever have been as a normal wizard – but in this case – in Harry's case – it had made him selfless. Exposed.

But, just like the battle at Hogsmeade, he found himself less concerned about the risk to himself if he did this. He would tell the Gryffindor the truth, simply because he deserved to know, and then he would wait for the outcome, because it wasn't his choice to make – and perhaps that was what had scared him so badly from the start.

His eyes flickered suddenly to the side as sound drifted towards him; someone approaching from behind. He immediately recognised the careless step which disturbed the snow. Harry. Sighing, he folded his arms tighter around himself, pulling closed the soft dove-grey coat he wore and fixing blank eyes on the frigid skyline.

The Gryffindor came to a stop next to him, not saying anything. The wind that came off the lake played havoc with his hair, whipping it into a mess Draco deemed tragic. Resolutely, he refrained from comment.

"So..." came the awkward introduction, after a while. "Still mad at me then?"

The Slytherin tried not to let his expression alter. "What do _you _think, Potter?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow wryly and dug his hands further into his pockets. He hadn't expected any other response, really, so wasn't fazed by the icy tone.

"I am sorry, you know," he said at length, after a few more moments of tense silence had passed. "I wouldn't do it again."

"Only because you _can't_ anymore!" the Slytherin hissed scornfully, before realising his aloof persona had cracked somewhat. Annoyed, he made himself expressionless again.

Calmly, Harry followed his companion's stare out to the lake, shivering absently in the winter chill. "Yeah. Why is that, do you think...?"

Only because he was looking for it did he notice Draco go abruptly still all over – even more tense than he had previously been – and forced himself not to react. He wanted to see what the blonde would do. If he would panic.

But the Slytherin stayed silent, only the muscle working in his jaw showing he'd even heard the question. Having become sufficiently used to Draco's mannerisms, Harry knew it meant he was thinking furiously, looking either for a way of broaching the subject or avoiding it completely.

For the moment, the Gryffindor let him be, considering the other from the corner of his eye, his thoughts wandering as he noticed that not one silver hair stirred in the breeze. Probably spelled to stay in place, he thought with some amusement, like every other immaculate detail about the boy.

Harry had noticed that Draco was, for the most part, all show. Appearance was everything; a sentiment that he despaired in Harry not sharing. Everything he did was for appearance's sake – even, the Gryffindor suspected, most of the opinions he'd always spouted. The Slytherin tended to say one thing and believe something completely different.

For example, for years he'd talked about hating muggles and muggleborns, and yet it hadn't escaped Harry's notice that he kept up with muggle fashions, read muggle literature, and he was sure he'd even heard him slip into muggle slang once or twice now.

He still insisted he despised Ron and Hermione, but hadn't he shown himself willing to defend them against Remus only a few days ago? Hadn't he gone to them when he wasn't sure how to deal with Harry's moods? Hadn't it been him who found a way to get them to Hogsmeade, even tempting Snape's wrath to do so...?

He claimed to have no loyalty. Harry snorted. Well, _that_ was a damn lie.

Whether he admitted it or not, Draco displayed loyalty to a number of people. Remus, for one, viewing him as a pack leader and a mentor of sorts.

Then there was Snape, who Draco would disobey in a heartbeat, but only if he thought the situation was desperate enough. There was respect there, based on the fact that the two Slytherins _understood _each other; understood the questionable ethics and general paranoia of another Slytherin; knew that the other cared, even if they'd never, _ever_ admit to such a thing.

Even Dumbledore, to some extent, commanded the werewolf's deference, if not his liking.

And Harry knew, now, exactly how loyal Draco was to _him_. It still awed him, slightly, to contemplate such... dedication – and from _Draco Malfoy_, of all people! It was... something that had almost overwhelmed him in the past week or so. It was–

Abrupt movement from the blonde snapped Harry from his thoughts as Draco suddenly turned to him, lifting his chin in a manner designed to be defiant, but which Harry knew really meant he was nervous. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Draco blinked as he set eyes on his companion properly for the first time. His attention previously lost to a landscape of white and grey, Harry was an unexpected clash of colour, clad in his Gryffindor colours of garish red and gold and fixing him with a startlingly green stare that mesmerised Draco for a brief moment. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of such romanticised sentiments.

"First of all," he began, adopting his best authoritative tone, "I will _never _forgive you if you do something like that again."

"Draco... You know I'm not always going to be able to stay where it's safe..."

The blonde sniffed haughtily. "I meant doing it _alone_. Next time, I'm coming with you – _no exception_. And _not_ only because I catch you at the last minute. Any insane, suicidal plans you make from now on include me."

Harry blinked for a moment, trying not to show his amusement at Draco's choice of phrase, then turned to look out across the lake, nodding once. "Okay."

"...What? No argument?"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "None." He knew he was making the other suspicious with his complacency, and would probably have to reassure him that he meant it later, but for the moment he was content to enjoy Draco's dumbfounded glare. "Did you have another point?"

"I – yes. Yes, there's another point..."

And this was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? No backing out after this...

But Draco didn't know where he was supposed to begin. It wasn't exactly something to be blurted out, was it? He'd had plans of explaining the situation clearly and rationally, laying it out in such a way that the Gryffindor wouldn't panic within the first few seconds. But all of his carefully thought out speeches seemed to have abandoned him, and he was suddenly at a loss for words.

Next to him, Harry sighed gently. "Just say it, Draco."

"You're my mate."

The words were out of his mouth so quickly and easily that he didn't have a chance to consider the wisdom of such a blunt statement, and had to resist the urge to clap a hand over his mouth in horror. He froze instead, not daring to sneak so much as a glance at the other boy.

He had spent most of last night preparing himself for the various reactions his announcement could be met with, and so was braced and ready for a tirade, a stammering denial, a disbelieving laugh.

What he had not expected was the very quiet, "I know," that emerged from the Gryffindor.

At first, he felt sure he'd missed something. Or had Harry misunderstood? But no, the green eyes were fixed on him, in all their intensity, and there was no trace of uncertainty or confusion in them.

The blond gaped at him for a second, then squeezed his eyes shut in frustration "How could you _possibly _know already?" he demanded incredulously, unable to stop himself. He narrowed his eyes. "Did Granger tell you?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "_Hermione _knows? You're kidding... And _none _of you thought I might want to be _told _before now?"

The Slytherin huffed. "It was a little bit more delicate a situation than that, you might have realised... So how _do _you know?"

"You left some book on werewolves on the couch. Got bored and read it. Even _I _can put two and two together when it's printed in front of me."

"...Oh."

Well. That had certainly been less melodramatic than he'd expected. But he supposed it wasn't over yet...

"Look..." he began, searching for the eloquent phrases he'd previously planned, and thoroughly failing to find any of them. "You must think I'm going to ask for the same... _commitment _that Lupin and... and Black had. I'm not, don't worry. It's just –"

"Don't you want that?" Harry interrupted, looking at him curiously.

Draco faltered. It was difficult enough trying to find the words, without the Gryffindor's inane questions. "Well. Yes. I suppose... But I'm trying to tell you I won't ask you for something you can't give..."

"You've decided I'm incapable of commitment?"

The Slytherin privately marvelled at the absurdity of this conversation. "I'm _trying _to be considerate. Stop sounding like I'm insulting you! The fact of the matter is... there are better things you could do than tie yourself to a werewolf... _or _a Malfoy."

"Isn't that my decision?" Harry asked, for all the world sounding perfectly reasonable, which was perhaps the most galling thing of all, Draco thought.

"What are you trying to say?" he snapped, abandoning any intentions of diplomacy. "That you _want _this? Potter, you're _you_. Maybe it was okay for a fling, when nobody knew. But people would find out... In the long run, I very much doubt it would work."

"Why?"

"I – How – What do you mean, _why_? Do you think the Wizarding World would look kindly on it, for one? Do you think it would be _easy_? Do you think... do you think you wouldn't just get _bored_? Want something else? ...You can have anything – anyone – Harry. It's only me that's stuck..."

Green eyes passed over him, darting away from his direct stare almost shyly. "And... what if I want to be stuck with you? I could think of worse things..."

Draco threw up his hands in exasperation. "How can you be so _calm_? Do you even _get _what I'm telling you Potter? This is where most people freak out!" It wasn't fair! he felt the childish urge to shout. Harry wasn't following the script!

The Gryffindor shrugged. "I'm not exactly most people..."

Draco stopped, struck by sudden realisation. That, he realised, was what made the Boy Who Lived the person he was. It was what made him so likely to triumph against the odds: a teenager, fighting against the power of the Dark Lord, which terrified grown men.

Harry didn't understand the rules. He didn't even acknowledge them. And consequently, he obliviously forced his way past the barriers that caused others to stop in their tracks or turn back.

According to the rules, social icon that the Gryffindor was, symbol of the Light and all that hype, Harry should never be associating so closely with the clearly Dark wizard that Draco was, and _certainly _not entertaining ideas of the sort he was proposing...

And yet.

It broke all social rules and expectations. It broke _convention_. Harry was _designed _to emerge the conquering hero in his shimmer of golden glow. He was supposed to grow up and marry some respectable, impressive woman and produce half a dozen little Potter brats, with never a hint of scandal touching his good name...

He was _not_ meant to stand there so calmly as if he _didn't give a damn _that none of that would happen if he continued along this path he'd so blithely allowed Draco to start him on...!

And yet...

It was so tempting... To just take the other at his word and pretend, at least for a little while, that everything would be fine...

He shook his head, turning away from the Gryffindor and pulling his coat tighter around him. "You haven't thought about it properly. You don't know what it involves..."

Hearing the despondent tone, Harry stepped up behind the other, hesitating to touch him. "I've thought about it..." he admitted. "Honestly, I have."

"...How long have you known?" Draco finally asked after a few moments.

"It was the night Remus left."

"Is that why you were so snappy with me afterwards?"

"...Partly. I wasn't sure why you weren't telling me. I thought maybe you hated the idea." He paused as Draco turned sharply to face him and glare. "And then that night... I didn't want you to come with me at all. I thought... if anything happened to you, it would be my fault, because you wouldn't even have a choice in trying to protect me..."

"Harry –"

"And then I think I made it worse, using the compulsion on you. But it was the only thing I could think of to do that would mean you wouldn't have to come with me if you didn't want to." He supposed, in a twisted way, it had even worked. Shaking his head, he sighed and gave a wry smile. "And I'm sure I had a point when I started speaking..."

The Slytherin was silent, regarding the other from the corner of his eye. Once again, they both made the pretence of staring at the distant skyline, although racing thoughts obscured their vision too much to see the beauty.

After a while, Draco felt the brush of fingertips against his own. Barely a touch, but insistent enough. Automatically, he reached out and accepted the hold, relaxing minutely with the linking of fingers.

He supposed, if he took the chance of believing the Gryffindor's word, he ran a greater risk than ever. But then, what was the alternative...?

Bleak, he silently answered himself.

"You realise," the Slytherin said at length, striving for casual, "if you agree to this, I'm going to become possessive, jealous, insecure, _ridiculously _demanding – oh my God..." he muttered, as if just realising it for the first time. "I'm going to become my own worst nightmare..."

Harry laughed, and decided he could live with that.


End file.
